


Going Off-Book

by njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [13]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Detective Jason Todd, Detective Tim Drake, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, JayTim Week, JayTim Week 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Dick winces. “Tim, meet Damian Wayne. Apparently, his mom told him who his dad was when he turned eighteen and the first thing he did after finding out was enroll in the nearest police academy. He served for a couple of years and just arranged a transfer here from Metropolis.” He directs a pleading gaze at Tim. “Like I said, Bruce had to go out of town for a while, but he asked me to show Damian the ropes. Tim, I’m sorry, but—”Wow. Okay, so Tim’s out and Damian’s in. That’s… fine. Everything’s fine.*For thetumblr Jaytim Weekday five Casefic/Detective Tim or Detective Jason | Office Romance AU prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1356295
Comments: 241
Kudos: 588
Collections: JayTimWeek





	1. Chapter 1

Tim barely waits for dispatch to finish informing him that the warrant has been granted. Officer Gordon is still speaking as he moves, racing toward the not-so-abandoned warehouse.

“Officer Drake!” He only half-listens to her voice in his ear. “Officer Drake, you will wait for backup—”

By the time Officer Gordon finishes speaking, Tim is already kicking in the door, his service pistol drawn and ready. There’s no time to wait for backup. As it is, he’s terrified that he might already be too late.

He tunes out Barbara’s increasingly irritated tones as he scans his surroundings. He’ll apologize to her later. Wincing at the edge of worry he hears in the communication coordinator’s voice, Tim makes a mental note to accompany his apology with one of the incredibly expensive cupcakes she favors from the bakery downtown.

“Drake, if you went into that warehouse alone—” She’s starting to sound downright scary.

He blanches. Okay, maybe a dozen cupcakes. It’s never a good idea to cross Barbara.

All thoughts of propitiation and groveling fly from his mind as he catches sight of some scuffs in the dust on the warehouse floor. Moving carefully to avoid disturbing the potential evidence, he follows the trail.

The kidnapper shouldn’t be present right now—he’s currently meeting the kid’s father at a pre-arranged location across town to pick up the ransom. The GCPD’s official plan is to capture the unknown kidnapper and then question him as to the missing boy’s whereabouts. Tim is working his own lead, though, and he’s hoping like hell it will pan out.

There are at least half a dozen police officers lying in wait for the kidnapper at the exchange point, so he isn’t going to be back here any time soon. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t accomplices, though. It’s public record that United Conglomerate bought out Clement Shipping, Ltd. and then broke the company up, selling off its assets and eliminating dozens of local jobs. It isn’t unreasonable to assume Eric Clement, the former owner of the shipping company, has a grudge against the CEO of the conglomerate that destroyed his life’s work.

Based on witness interviews, reviews of employment records, and phone records, Tim has assembled a list of six former employees of Clement Shipping who are all potential accomplices.

None of them have alibis for the time period during which Justin Wells was taken while he played at the park, innocently unaware of the hell he was about to go through just because someone wanted revenge against his father. All of them have a criminal record. Of course, this is Gotham. Pretty much everyone has something to hide.

Tim’s biggest fear is that the kidnapper or kidnappers never intend to return the boy at all. He’s just hoping that they’re here and not at one of the two other idle warehouses which once belonged to the shipping company. No—based on traffic cam footage, this warehouse is the only one with an unusual amount of visits over the time period in question. It has to be the one. If his hunch is correct, then somewhere around here there should be—

“Let me go!” A high-pitched, devastatingly young-sounding voice echoes through the empty warehouse. Tim books it toward the row of closed offices which line the southern side of the spacious interior. He follows the trail and the voice to the office in the southeast corner and stands to one side, listening. The more information he can gather about the potential suspects, the better the child’s chances of survival.

“Sure, kid, I’ll let you go soon,” a deep voice says with an ugly edge of amusement. “In fact, your daddy just paid up, so I’m gonna let you go right now.” A deep chuckle follows.

“What are you—no! No! I don’t want to go in the water!” The panic in the kid’s voice sends Tim’s heart into overdrive. The south side of this warehouse backs onto the Sprang. Some of the administration offices along this end of the building have exterior doors which open a stone’s throw from the deep, rushing water. If they’re planning to just get rid of the evidence—in this case, an innocent six year-old child—then dumping him in the river would be an expedient way to do it, at least in the eyes of the kind of monsters who would kidnap a little kid.

Tim grimaces, disgust and fury warring within him. There’s no more time. He turns and kicks in the door, spinning to cover the room with his service pistol. He registers the boy first, huddled on the floor in the corner. Justin is cringing away from a hulking man who is extending his arms toward the tearful child in a threatening manner.

“Gotham City Police! Stand down!” Tim barks, bracing himself to do whatever it takes to protect the boy.

The suspect jerks in shock at his precipitous entry. He spins, clutching what Tim now sees are thick, heavy chains. He was trying to put them on the little boy.

Tim’s gaze darts to the outer door, which is hanging open wide. He can see the walkway outside and the dark waters of the Sprang beyond. There’s a cement block perched on the river levee. The criminals’ plan for vengeance crystallizes in his mind, and his lips twist in disgust. “Drop it! Hands in the air!” he orders, covering the suspect the entire time.

The thug glances at the kid. He’s clearly weighing his chances if he tries to grab him and then hold him hostage long enough to escape.

Tim thumbs the safety off with an audible click.

Swallowing, the suspect drops the chains, which land on the floor with a heavy thunk and a rattle. “I want a lawyer,” he says hoarsely as he raises his hands in the air.

Just as Tim is stepping forward to cuff him and read him his rights, shouts from the front of the warehouse tell him that backup has finally arrived. Ives sounds more worried than angry, which is a relief. He couldn’t have been happy to get Tim’s message and realize that he was heading into a crime scene alone, but it’s not like there was a better option.

The ransom exchange was negotiated less than an hour from the appointed exchange time, which cut Justin’s chances down to nothing if Tim didn’t move fast. He couldn’t wait for his partner to return from interviewing more of the former employees who worked at the Clement Shipping location in Blüdhaven prior to its closure.

Tim cuffs the criminal and then turns to the boy with what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “Hey there, Justin. I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through such a scary experience, but we’re going to get you home—”

Justin bites his lip, swipes some tears from his eyes, and then edges forward. He sniffs loudly. “I’m hungry and I want my Mama!” His voice starts out soft but by the end, it’s a loud wail.

The poor kid has been held here for over twenty-four hours. Tim wonders if the kidnappers even bothered to feed him. He narrows his eyes at the cuffed suspect, who just stares at the ground, shoulders slumped.

Somehow, Ives ends up being the one to haul the suspect back to his cruiser. “You got this, Tim!” he says, eyeing the crying child with an expression of trepidation before shoving the suspect into the backseat and bumping his head on the roof of the car in the process. “Oops, sorry,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all.

So, Tim ends up being the one who comforts the frightened little boy until the victim advocate and paramedics arrive to take over. He wraps the kid in an emergency blanket and gives him a bottle of water from his cruiser, along with a slightly squashed granola bar from his pocket. In the process, Justin somehow ends up crying on him and rubbing snot all over his uniform. Eventually, he settles, sniffing occasionally while Tim awkwardly pats his back.

Somehow, it feels like victory.

Later that night, when Commissioner Wayne himself calls him into his office and makes him give a detailed report of his actions, Tim wonders if maybe he went too far. After all, he’s just a rookie cop. He isn’t supposed to go after his own leads without proper clearance, especially not on a high-profile case like this.

The Commissioner grills him on every clue and step of logic which led him to figure out both the identity of the lead kidnapper and the location at which the victim was being held. Wayne’s inscrutable gaze and occasional grunt of acknowledgement give him no indication of his thoughts. By the end of what amounts to more of an interrogation than a debrief, nearly two hours after he walked into the precinct, Tim half-expects that he’s about to be fired for not following orders to the letter. Hopefully the fallout won’t hurt Ives, too. He doesn’t deserve it.

That’s why it comes as a complete shock when he finally finishes speaking and Commissioner Wayne actually _smiles._ Well, the corners of his mouth twitch slightly in an upward direction. Tim’s going to count it as a smile.

“Detective Drake—” Commissioner Wayne says smoothly.

Tim coughs, confused. “Uh, it’s Officer Drake,” he says awkwardly. “I’m not a detective.” Detectives need to have a minimum of two years of experience as regular officers along with the performance record that only comes with hard work and skill. At twenty-two, he has just had his two year anniversary with the force. He still has a lot of years to go and dues to pay before anyone is likely to even consider him for the role of detective.

Commissioner Wayne just raises a dark eyebrow, amusement clear on his stern, sculpted face. “You will find, Detective Drake, that I tend to say exactly what I mean.” He closes a folder on his desk and then hands it to Tim. “Details of your promotion are in here. I’ve had my eye on you for a while, and your performance on the Wells case just cements my conviction that you’re wasted where you are. We’ll put your talents to better use as a detective.” His lips quirk. “I will, however, expect you to go by the book. No more following a hunch without proper backup.”

“I—what?” He winces, knowing he isn’t at his most coherent right now. It has been a long day, on top of more than a week of broken sleep, constantly interrupted by work.

Commissioner Wayne bites back a smile, looking unfairly amused at his flustered state. “You’ll meet your new partner in the morning. I expect you to work with him and learn a substantial amount during your training period over the next year. I’ll also work with you myself during that time. I expect great things from you, Detective Drake.”

Holy shit.

He stumbles out of the office, clutching the folder to his chest and feeling shell shocked. Ives is waiting for him at his desk. “Hey, man, are you okay? What did the big guy want?”

Tim winces. If he’s being promoted, that means he and Ives won’t be partners anymore. “Uh…”

Ives tugs the folder from his arms and opens it, then gapes. “Holy crap, Tim, you’re a detective!” He looks up with a wide grin, his glasses glinting. “Congrats! Wow, this is awesome!”

“You—don’t mind? I mean, we’re not going to be able to be partners anymore—”

Ives huffs a laugh and shakes his head, looking rueful. “Actually, this is perfect timing. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. I’m—well, we both know I’m not cut out to be a beat cop.”

Tim opens his mouth to protest—Ives is one of the smartest people he knows. Just because he’s a little timid doesn’t mean he isn’t doing a great job.

“No, we both know it’s true. But listen, I’ve been training on the side and I finally got my certification. I’m going to be a crime analyst.” He beams, looking happier than he has in—well, ever, actually.

Grinning, Tim bumps their shoulders together. “Dude, that’s great! I think this calls for a celebration. Pizza?”

“Heck, yeah!”

* * *

“Hey Dick,” Tim says with a wide grin as he steps into their shared office. He brandishes the two coffee cups he’s carrying, making sure not to drop the brown bag of fresh bagels he is clutching under his arm. “I figured we were both up all night on the Twible case, so I grabbed us some breakfast—”

He trails off, frowning as he registers the tall, well-built stranger who is sitting in his chair. At his desk. The man looks awfully comfortable there, relaxed and totally at ease in his tailored suit. He’s crisp and clean and put together in a way that makes Tim feel uncomfortably aware that he didn’t have time to shower this morning and the bags under his eyes probably have bags of their own.

The unknown man glances over and flicks his gaze up and down Tim’s body before he gives a dismissive sniff. He raises one black, sculpted eyebrow. “Is this really the best Father could do, Grayson? Surely even _Gotham_ is capable of producing something more impressive than _that._ No wonder you are in need of competent assistance, if this is your previous partner.”

First, ouch. Second, what the heck? “What do you mean, previous partner?” Tim’s gaze cuts over to Dick expectantly. There’s no way he’s just going to sit there while this guy insults Tim—right? He sees Dick wince and look away, and his heart sinks. He sets the coffees and bagels down on the corner of Dick’s desk, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Timmy, I’m sorry—” Dick begins, looking at him with an apologetic expression. “Commissioner Wayne just found out that his ex, Talia al Ghul, had his son. And didn’t tell him about it. He was understandably upset, and took a short leave of absence to go over to Metropolis and talk to her.” He clears his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“Okay?” Tim says, still waiting for the connection. Then he blinks, frowning, before turning to stare at the stranger again. Now that he’s looking closer, he sees the bone structure and familiar features beneath the golden-brown skin. This guy is a dead ringer for the Commissioner. “Ah. But why does Bruce Wayne having a kid mean I’m not your partner anymore?”

Dick winces again. “Tim, meet Damian Wayne. Apparently, his mom told him who his dad was when he turned eighteen, and the first thing he did after finding out was enroll in the nearest police academy. He served for a couple of years and just arranged a transfer here from Metropolis.” He directs a pleading gaze at Tim. “Like I said, Bruce had to go out of town for a while, but he asked me to show Damian the ropes. Tim, I’m sorry, but—”

Wow. Okay, so Tim’s out and Damian’s in. That’s… fine. Everything’s fine. “Alright,” Tim says, feeling his face freeze the way it always does when he can’t afford to show any emotions. “I guess I’ll just take my things and—” He glances at his desk again and frowns, his heart somehow sinking even further. “Where’s my stuff?”

Damian smirks. “The case files will remain here. After all, _we_ will be solving them now, as the department’s star detective team. I expect our solve rate will only increase now that the weak link has been removed.” His mouth stretches in a wide, smug grin. “The computer has already been switched out. You will find yours—and all the other trash which littered this desk when I arrived—has been moved to your new workstation. I am sure you will find the location far more suitable and befitting of your… _talents.”_

“Wait, no—” Dick shoots Damian a warning look, then turns back to Tim. He snags a file off his desk and holds it out. “You can keep the Walker case. I know you’ve put a lot of effort into that one already.”

“Which one is the Walker case?” Damian asks petulantly, turning on Dick. “We should not allow that _cretin_ to lay hands on _any_ of our cases—”

Blinking in shock, Tim takes the file on autopilot and backs out of his—no, _Damian’s_ office. He ignores Dick’s look of pity and goes in search of his new desk.

When he finally tracks it down, he just blinks at the pathetic setup for a full minute. He can’t seem to comprehend how his life went from rookie detective of the year success story to this. His new workstation is in the bullpen, at one of the perennially empty desks shoved between the printer and the bathroom. It’s the highest traffic and most uncomfortable area in the entire building.

Great. This is just great.

There’s a cardboard box with his things in it, not that he has anywhere to hang all of his framed photographs of the Gotham skyline. Well, unless he decides to decorate the bathroom door or something. He sighs, his shoulders drooping, then bites his lip. After a moment, he squares his shoulders and sets the Walker file down on his scuffed, not-quite-level new desk. New seems like a bit of a misnomer, considering the strong possibility that this desk might just be older than he is.

Maybe he can figure out what he did wrong. There must have been something he did to cause such an abrupt fall from grace. If he knows what happened, then he can try to fix it. It could also be that it’s really just like Dick said and the commissioner is only trying to do right by his son.

More likely, though, Tim screwed up somehow and this is his punishment. He probably won’t know for sure until he sees who he has been assigned as his new partner. Turning to the empty desk adjacent to his, he studies it, searching for clues to the identity of his mystery partner.

There isn’t much. A sunglasses case and cigarette lighter lie haphazardly as though tossed on the desk. Those items, plus a leather jacket hanging on the back of the chair are his only clues. He frowns, wondering why there isn’t an ashtray.

The bathroom door next to his desk flies open and a tall, gorgeous man steps out. His teal gaze immediately locks onto Tim, who swallows as his throat suddenly goes completely dry. This guy is hands down the most beautiful man he has ever seen, from his curly black hair with its sexy shock of white to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Tim’s gaze continues to travel down, and dear _god,_ those _thighs._ He just wants to put his hands on them. Or his mouth.

The sound of a throat being cleared draws his attention back up to the guy’s face. Which is… glaring at him. Oops. Tim bites his lip. “Uh, sorry, got distracted. I’m Tim Drake.” He extends his hand with a friendly smile. “Are you new here?” Hopefully this guy won’t be as rude and aggressive as the other transfer Tim met today.

Snorting, the man glances down at Tim’s extended hand and then flicks his gaze away dismissively. “I’m Jason Todd,” he says. He gives Tim a mean grin. “Your new partner, I guess.” Jason throws a knowing glance at the closed door of Tim’s and Dick’s old office. Dick and Damian are visible through the blinds, talking animatedly and thumbing through a case file. “So, how does it feel to be _replaced?”_

Tim blinks, taken aback by the unexpected vitriol in his tone. It seems like a bit much, considering the fact that they literally just met. “I—it’s fine. I always knew I was only meant to be training under Dick for a year—”

Jason rolls his eyes. “And how long has it been, six fuckin’ months? Didn’t take ‘em long to realize you were a waste of time and upgrade to a better model, did it? That’s what happens when you get yourself promoted past your ability to deliver, princess.” He looks Tim over again and then sneers, visibly dismissing his _everything._ “Anyway, I got shit to do and witnesses to question, so I’m gonna roll. Have fun with the paperwork, pretender.” He gestures to where another officer has just dumped a huge pile of files on Jason’s desk. “We gotta get that shit done by five—you’ll handle it, right? _Partner?”_

It doesn’t sound like a question. With that, Jason brushes past him, knocking into his shoulder and causing him to stumble back a step. Tim barely manages to catch himself on his awful new desk as his new partner grabs his jacket and then struts away.

Tim watches him leave, irritably shoving down his own ridiculous physical reaction to the admittedly impressive rear view. This guy is obviously a total asshole, not crush-worthy material. He sighs.

So, it’s official. He is definitely being punished for something.

Well, the only thing he can do at this point is keep his head down and continue doing the best work he can. He glances at the massive stack of paperwork on his jerk of a new partner’s desk, and sighs before scooping it up and placing it on his own. He misses Ives, but the analysts work in an entirely different section of the building. It wouldn’t be fair to dump his problems on his friend, anyway.

This is fine. At least, it will be. He’ll make it work.

* * *

Jason stalks out of the precinct, his lip curling in disgust as he slips his sunglasses on. His replacement is everything he expected—young, fresh-faced, and booksmart, clearly just another spoiled rich kid riding Daddy’s money into a job he didn’t earn.

He’s fucking pretty, too, which almost makes it worse. In Jason’s experience, some of the nastiest things in life come wrapped in deceptively pretty packages. Even if he hadn’t come into this day already expecting Drake to be a piece of shit, just the sight of those big blue eyes, perfect skin, disgustingly even features and sexy, tight little body would have been enough to set his guard up.

There’s no question in Jason’s mind that this little shit is in it for the graft. His type always is. Daddy’s company needs the law to look the other way, and lo and behold, here’s little Timmy, ready to twist justice into the shape of a dollar sign. Whatever he can’t weasel around, he can probably get past by batting his pretty blue eyes.

It’s bullshit that Bruce sent Jason away three years ago for being too much of a loose cannon. He may have said it was a temporary transfer for cross-training and strengthening intercity ties, but Jason recognized it for what it really was. A power move to get rid of him when he wouldn’t toe the line and do exactly what the boss said. Whatever. Blüdhaven’s better for having had Jason working there. Hell, at least he got shit _done,_ there and here _._ No one else ever seems to bother in this shitstain of a city.

It was really fucking shitty to come back and find out that Bruce didn’t even wait a full year before he promoted another guy to fill his position. It was salt on an open wound when Jason asked around and realized the commissioner didn’t even bother to make sure the kid was competent before throwing his ass in his old seat. From what he can see, all Bruce was looking for was someone who was the exact opposite of Jason.

Scowling, Jason strides over to his unmarked police motorcycle and pulls on his helmet. Bruce Wayne is a raging dick, but Jason thought he was smarter than this. How fucking dare he send Jason away for going off-book only to immediately replace him with a sniveling little turd like Drake?

Worse, what the fuck is Bruce _thinking,_ pairing them together now? Hell, maybe he’s hoping Jason will kill the little shit in a homicidal rage and kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of both B’s failed protegees in one fell swoop.

He huffs an unamused laugh. “Well, if that’s what B’s got in mind, it ain’t gonna happen. I’ll just fuck with the kid until he can’t take it anymore and ends up quitting on his own. I work best alone, and I _damn_ sure don’t need a partner like _that.”_

With that, he twists the throttle and takes off, enjoying the rush of wind around him. He’s back in Gotham. Fucked up as it is, it’s home. Part of him is glad to be back. He’s here now, and he’s going to clean up this goddamn cesspit of a city, one sorry douchebag at a time.

Starting with the douchebag in the desk next to his. Jason grins and guns the engine, laughing as the wind whips past his face. Yeah, it’s good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, venturing forth in his life as a brand new detective:** “Wow, this is awesome! I can’t believe my life is going so well—” *Turns to grin at his amazing, super-supportive partner, Dick Grayson*  
>  **Dick, looking deeply uncomfortable:** “Uh, heh, so… about that—” *Breaks off as Damian appears in a cloud of infernal smoke*  
>  **Damian, walking over to Tim’s desk and claiming it for his own, his forked tail switching behind him:** “Out, peon! You have been demoted” *Gestures imperiously toward the door with a mephistophelian grin which exposes his sharp fangs*  
>  **Tim, baffled:** *Glances through door, sees desk shoddily constructed of cinder blocks and plywood which appears to be taped together using duct tape. The desk is in the bathroom and the chair is an unflushed toilet* “What the actual fuck, I don’t think this is even legal”  
>  **Jason, appearing behind him and dropping a heavy arm around his shoulders:** “It isn’t, but HR made an exception just for you, partner” *Uses arm around Tim’s shoulders to shove him into toilet and give him a swirly* “Welcome to real life, princess”  
>  **Tim, dripping wet and still SO confused:** “Whyyyyyyy” *Takes a step, slips on a banana peel, somehow lands in a pile of dog crap* “Oh, come on. REALLY?”


	2. Chapter 2

Glancing at his computer monitor, Tim refreshes his inbox and then sighs. The lab still hasn’t sent the results of the fingerprint analysis for the Walker case. That evidence packet has been in the queue for over two weeks. It’s not unusual to have a delayed turnaround—the lab always has a massive backlog, and these things take time—but he’s worried if they don’t move fast, the case might end up snowballing into something a lot more serious than white collar money laundering and embezzlement.

After all, they’ve already had one incident of grievous bodily harm associated with this case. At least, he thinks so. It’s hard to be sure without the data from the lab.

He hasn’t managed to find a solid link yet between Nathaniel Walker and a series of missing neighborhood teens, all of whom were last seen in the vicinity of various Walker properties, but he has a strong hunch that there’s a connection. Even taking into account the embezzlement he and Dick found evidence of, there’s more money on the books at Walker, Inc. than there should be. The extra has to be coming from somewhere. Tim suspects the origin is profit from the sale of illegal drugs. Dick’s theory that Walker might be involved in running a prostitution ring is also a possibility.

The bleeding, unconscious eighteen year-old they found in an alley on the East Side three weeks ago wasn’t dressed like a streetwalker, but he might not have been on duty when he was beaten. The systematic pattern of his injuries led them to believe it was a punishment of some kind, and there were traces of several designer drugs on the teen’s clothing.

None of those drugs came up on his blood panel, so Tim figures his theory about drug running is more plausible at this point than Dick’s prostituation ring. Either way, those fingerprints would go a long way toward potentially tying Nathaniel Walker to the scene.

The poor kid is still unconscious, in a medically-induced coma to allow his injuries the best chance of healing. He isn’t likely to remember the incident when he wakes up, so they’re on their own figuring out what happened.

Tim worked too hard tracking down the baseball bat used to deliver the beating to allow that evidence go to waste. He went through hours of traffic cam footage—which is how he ended up tying Nathaniel Walker’s black SUV to the vicinity at the time of the crime in the first place—went door to door for witnesses, and even ended up in the sewer at one point to retrieve the weapon.

The assailants had thoughtfully sealed the damn thing in a plastic bag weighted down with a few rocks. Their shoddy attempt at getting rid of the evidence actually served to preserve it—the plastic bag was watertight and the lab was able to match the blood to their victim. Now, if only they would move a little faster on the fingerprint analysis, then maybe he could actually get a warrant to investigate properly.

He types up a quick email to check on the lab’s progress and sends it off before he reaches for his coffee, feeling tired and worn down.

At the last moment, he glances down and then almost drops the mug when he spots something floating in the coffee. “What the…?” He peers at the foreign substance, half-expecting it to turn out to be a particularly unfortunate fly. It’s not.

Ew.

Grimacing, Tim lifts his head to glare across their desks at his annoying so-called partner. Jason was already here, typing away on his computer when Tim arrived this morning. Well, now he knows why the other man was here on time for once. Every other morning this week since the two of them were assigned to work together, Jason has rolled in hours late and left early.

“There seems to be cigarette ash floating in my coffee,” Tim says in arctic tones.

Jason grins like a bastard. “No shit? Didn’t know it came in that flavor. Sounds disgusting. Still, to each his own, sicko.” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a drink from his own thermos.

“You’re such an asshole,” Tim mutters under his breath, wondering if he should sink to the other man’s level and do something to whatever’s in that thermos. He could wait until Jason goes to the bathroom and then dump pencil shavings into it. Or laxatives. He reluctantly dismisses the idea after a minute or so of wistful contemplation. If he did that, it would just be an invitation for Jason to do more, and worse.

He turns back to his computer and sees an email notification. Hopefully it’s the lab saying they’ll be done with the analysis soon.

It’s not. Tim blinks, staring at the email and trying to force his tired brain to understand the words. He really needed his damn coffee this morning. He sends a quick glare at Jason, who is typing away while humming something annoyingly cheerful. God knows what he’s typing—it’s definitely not work-related, if the way he’s shunted all of his own work onto Tim over the past week is any indication.

 _Detective Drake,_ the email reads. _These results were completed two days ago. We were contacted by Detective Wayne and instructed to deliver the results directly to himself and Detective Grayson. Here is a copy for your records. We apologize for any inconvenience._

He scans past the signature block and opens the attachment, shoving down his fury at Damian’s heavy-handed attempt to horn in on his case. Seriously, though—he already took everything else. Why the hell does he need to go after this one, as well?

It’s bad enough that Tim has a terrible partner instead of a great one. Worse, the rest of the department seems to be picking up on the vibe that he must have screwed up in a big way, because now everyone is avoiding him like the plague. Well, except Ives, who still chats with him using the interdepartmental messenger app. And Jason, of course, not that he’s much of a conversationalist. Tim could do without the constant stream of insults.

Grumbling under his breath, he skims over the results, then freezes. It’s a match. He grins. Oh, today’s going to be interesting.

“Well, lookee here,” a highly unwelcome voice says from right behind him. “Guess we got some work to do.”

Tim tenses, jerking around to see Jason hovering over his shoulder. The big man doesn’t back off at all even though the proximity means that either one of them could sway and they’d be touching. He blinks, discomfited, then shakes it off. “What do you mean, we? The Walker case is mine.”

Jason’s lips curve in a shit-eating grin. “I think you mean ours, _partner.”_ He reaches over Tim’s shoulder and leans in even closer to skim through the file on his desk. Humming, he lowers his head to see the details of the crime scene photographs.

Tim tenses, trying not to move. He can feel Jason’s body heat and breath on his neck, and it’s sending thrills of sensation through his entire body. He can’t help the blush, but at least if he focuses very hard—heh—he can keep himself from having any other unwelcome and highly embarrassing reactions to the gorgeous jerk’s proximity. “Back off—you smell like an ashtray,” he snarks.

Jason rolls his eyes and exhales right in his face because he’s a total dick, and then leans in even closer to resume reading the file. He’s practically draped over Tim’s shoulders right now, obviously relishing the opportunity to annoy him.

Tim blushes so hard he can feel the tips of his ears growing hot. He’s pretty sure if Jason had any idea of the actual reaction he’s having right now, he’d get punched in the face. It’s probably best to just let him continue thinking he’s simply annoying him. Hopefully, the man will never realize that Tim’s ridiculous body finds him extremely attractive. That would just open up even more avenues of weakness for him to attack.

They’re so close, Tim can feel it when Jason’s entire body goes tense. “What’s wrong?” he asks, half-turning to look at the other man’s face. He frowns at what he sees.

Jason doesn’t look amused anymore. His expression is dark and intent as he stares at the file. “Kids,” he growls. “They using _kids.”_ He jams a finger onto the paper. “You’ve got here that three kids have disappeared between Fourth Ave and Seventh over the past two weeks. The Fashion district is a good part of town—kids don’t just walk away from nice houses and families like that. Why the hell isn’t someone looking into this shit?” He looks furious.

“Someone is,” Tim says simply, looking back at the file. “Me.”

Jason is silent for a long moment, his breathing slow and deep as he tries to calm himself down. “Fuck that,” he says, and Tim wilts. Then Jason continues, _“We_ are.”

Somehow, his tone this time is anything but mocking. Maybe he’s actually going to take this seriously and do his damn job now that people’s lives are on the line. Tim takes a deep breath, trying not to notice how nice it feels to have Jason so close. “Okay, so here’s what I think we should do—”

It’s possible this case might just be the thing that gets them past their rough start and brings them together. Hopefully, anyway, because otherwise Tim is pretty sure that Jason is eventually going to lose it and strangle him. Judging by the way Damian Wayne glares at Tim every chance he gets, he’ll probably volunteer to hide the body.

As the thought passes through his mind, Tim glances up and sees Damian eyeing him superciliously from what used to be his office. Catching him looking, Damian smirks and then slowly shuts the blinds.

Ugh, Tim is surrounded by assholes and he still hasn’t gotten his coffee. He’s pretty sure this day couldn’t get any worse.

* * *

Jason sees hope kindling in Drake’s pretty—no, annoying—blue eyes, and makes sure to smack that shit down hard and fast. He may be cooperating to solve the case and save those kids, but that does not mean that he approves of Drake as a cop, wants him as a partner, or respects him as a human being.

He listens to Drake’s plan for the case because it just makes sense to hear him out and get up to speed on what he and Dickhead did so far. It isn’t bad, as far as it goes, although he would’ve probably bent the law sooner to check out what’s on those Walker, Inc. servers. He’d just jimmy the window, rearrange things a little, and hey presto! The incriminating evidence is in plain sight and he could bust in with impunity.

Whatever. He’ll let Drake get his search warrant, and then they’ll move from there. It’ll only cost them another twenty-four hours. His jaw clenches and his fists tighten at the thought that those hours might cost a life or three.

“Fine,” he butts in, cutting right through Drake’s animated explanation of some trip he apparently took through the Gotham sewer systems. Fucking weirdo. “Sounds like we need to work up an updated profile on Nathaniel Walker now that we have hard evidence tying him to this shit. I’ll get started on that while you take this over to the judge and get the request in for a covert search warrant on Walker’s car and office.”

Drake bites his lip and frowns, then opens his pretty mouth. “I think the warrant should cover his home, as well. Also the warehouse where Walker, Inc. stores their products prior to shipment. It’s probable that they don’t keep the most incriminating evidence at their main office.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.” Without waiting for further agreement, he scoops up the case file from Drake’s desk in preparation to head back over to his own. Glancing down, he spots the still-full coffee mug he dumped his ashes in earlier and suppresses a quick stab of guilt. Drake depends on that shit. Not getting any caffeine this morning is clearly having an effect on him. The bags under his eyes look darker, if that’s even possible, and he didn’t seem to realize earlier when he swayed right into Jason and leaned his head back on his shoulder.

It felt kinda nice, but that’s only because Drake smells good and his hair is soft. Definitely not because Jason likes him at all. Far from it.

Drake blinks up at him, looking confused for a moment before his expression clears. “Okay,” he says, turning back to his computer to pull up the correct forms. “I’ll get these printed and deliver them by hand to up our chances of getting the warrant today. Judge Dent is good, and he went to school with Bruce—he’ll try to turn it around quickly.”

Jason nods as he strides over to his own desk. He digs into the case file, biding his time, and then rises with an evil grin the moment Drake disappears down the hall. He’ll be gone for at least an hour, between travel time and the inevitable wait once he gets to the courthouse.

Drake’s computer hasn’t had time to lock yet, so Jason has plenty of time to enact his mischief. No one glances his way as he pokes around in his partner’s computer, pulling up a couple of websites before happening on the perfect video. He leaves his chosen website open and adjusts the settings on the computer so the minute Drake comes back, everything will start playing on maximum volume. This is going to be gold.

While he’s over there, he quickly rearranges the shit on Drake’s desktop, swipes three of his pens, and jams his stapler. In an ongoing war of attrition, it’s the little things that matter.

Smirking, he heads back to his own desk and buries himself in the case. He has a decent working profile of Nate Walker going when an obscene moan echoes through the quiet office. It’s disastrously loud in the relative silence. Every head in the bullpen turns, each curious or surprised gaze riveted on Drake.

Jason lunges to his feet and dives over to stand behind Drake’s desk before the stunned man can close down any of the hilariously incriminating evidence. “Holy shit, Drake, really? SizeKinksForTwinks.cum, huh? Jesus, you got balls, man. I mean, no one’s judging you for your kinks or whatever, but damn, can’t you look at porn on your own time? The taxpayers ain’t payin’ you for this shit.”

A litany of groans and soft slapping sounds accompanies the lewd actions autoplaying on Drake’s screen. Drake seems frozen, his horrified gaze locked on the huge, muscular man on the screen who is currently folding his much smaller but no less muscular partner in half and then covering him with his own thick body. It’s one of the more tasteful videos Jason found—only the rolling motion of the bigger guy’s hips gives away what’s going on. Well, that and the way the smaller guy is rhythmically wailing now.

“Oh my god,” Drake whispers, finally unfreezing at the sound of a few snickers and whispers from the bullpen. His shaking hands dart out to rapidly close all of the open windows on his computer. In the ensuing silence, it’s easy to hear how upset and confused he sounds. “Oh my _god—_ what the hell?”

“Disgusting, Drake,” a smooth, deep voice sneers from behind them. “Not only are you below par physically and mentally, apparently you are also prone to depravity. Do not think this deviant behavior will go unpunished.”

Jason turns, his brow furrowing slightly. He meant to humiliate Drake, sure, but he’s pretty sure that Damian Wayne is a bag of dicks in his own right. The last thing he wants is to help Damian stick it to Drake, especially like this. Jason would be happy to see both of them take a fall, but he doesn’t want to watch a bigot harass someone for being caught watching gay porn.

Well, whatever. In a minute, Drake will tell everyone it’s all a prank and he’s straight as fuck. Jason folds his arms and waits to see how this plays out.

Drake tenses, his shoulders squaring as he turns. His face is flushed, a pretty pink blush trailing down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his prissy, button-down shirt. Jason isn’t curious about how far down it goes—he _isn’t._ “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or what I’m interested in.” Drake blushes harder, and holy shit.

Huh. Maybe Drake isn’t straight. Jason maybe gets sidelined on that thought for a little bit longer than he should.

Scoffing, Damian shakes his head, a condescending smile on his lips. “I do not care what predilections you choose to indulge in your off time. It is, however, my Father’s business if one of his employees is wasting time on the clock using official resources to watch pornography.” He narrows his eyes. “I think I should take it upon myself to inform him of your… _proclivities_ … upon his return.” Nose in the air, he turns and stalks away.

Drake stares after him, frowning. With a shaky sigh, he turns back to his desk and slowly begins reopening all the apps he shut down—minus the porn site.

Looking at his slumped shoulders, Jason almost feels guilty. Also, he has the uncomfortable suspicion that he just outed his partner to the whole damn precinct. Now he feels like a dick. He opens his mouth, not sure what he’s going to say, then shuts it and heads back to his own desk.

There’s work to do and kids to save. That’s way the hell more important than whatever the fuck is going on with Drake, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, glaring at the plastic wrap, glitter, and toilet paper which cover every item at his desk:** “Seriously?” *Tries to sit down, then glares harder as his chair collapses because someone loosened the wheels* “I hate”  
>  **Jason, cackling like a bastard:** *Slaps his knee and continues setting up seemingly endless assortment of classic office pranks* “This is the best thing I ever did”  
>  **Tim, staring at him:** “Dude, I can totally see you right now” *Rolls his eyes, ignores Jason’s antics and gets back to work* “Oh hey, some clues came in on that case with the missing teenagers”  
>  **Jason, abruptly going dead serious:** “Wait, kids?” *Rises to his feet and crowds up behind Tim, absently massaging his shoulders as he reads up on the case* “Fuck. Well, no worries. We got this, partner”  
>  **Tim, slowly melting into puddle of relaxed goo as Jason accidentally gives him a massage:** “Hnngh”


	3. Chapter 3

Tim sips his coffee, luxuriating in the rich aroma and the smooth heat as it spills across his tongue and down his throat. It feels like it’s warming his body from the inside out, waking him up and easing him into the new day.

He’s standing on the sidewalk in front of the precinct. Today, he’s going to finish his coffee before entering the building. He doesn’t trust that Jason won’t find some way to contaminate it the moment he steps through that door, laws of physics be damned.

It’s a good day to be outside, at least. The sky was overcast and gloomy when he got up, but the clouds are already burning off. Tim takes another delicious, infinitely soothing sip, and then sighs. It’s time to head in. Actually—he feels his pocket buzz, so he pulls out his phone, scanning the notification on the lock screen. Smiling, he tosses back the last of his coffee as he strides toward the side door. Judge Dent just granted the search warrant.

Now all he has to do is grab what he needs from inside the precinct and then slip away before Detective Todd shows up and—

“Hey, princess! I hear we got ourselves a warrant.” Jason grins and drapes a big, beefy arm over his shoulders. The movement jostles his arm in a way that definitely would have spilled his coffee if there were anything left in the cup.

He slides out from under the offending arm and catches Jason staring at his coffee cup with an almost comically disappointed look on his face. It’s hilarious. Tim allows himself a tiny, triumphant smirk at his minor victory. Jason catches him looking and immediately goes back to his usual expression of scornful indifference.

“So we did,” Tim says, sighing internally at the thought of having to spend an entire day in his aggravating partner’s presence. Maybe he can avoid it? He knows before he even opens his mouth that this isn’t likely to work, but he tries anyway. “I figure you can stay here and keep working on the profile while I—”

“Yeah, nope,” Jason says, snickering and elbowing him in the gut. “Not gonna miss out on a search to do fucking office work. Try again, partner.”

“Ow,” Tim complains, resisting the urge to bend over and clutch at his aching stomach. He narrows his eyes, resolving to pay Jason back in kind. By the end of the day, he _will_ know the pain of Tim’s bony elbows.

“Anyway, hell no. I’m coming with you, princess. Wanna ride?” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows, leaving no doubt that the suggestive phrasing was completely intentional.

Tim raises an eyebrow and blushes slightly, but he doesn’t dignify that with a response. He follows Jason’s gaze and sees a gorgeous bike parked nearby. Apparently, Officer Todd rides a motorcycle. For a split second, his mind offers him a highly inappropriate series of images involving himself pressed up tight behind Jason, his arms wrapped around that narrow waist, his legs gripping those thick thighs and—yeah, nope. “We’re taking my car,” he says in a voice that doesn’t leave room for argument.

Jason goes along with it with barely a grumble, not even teasing once he sees the rather unimpressive, scuffed vehicle which was assigned to Tim by the department. That should have been his first clue. Once they’re in the car, his insufferable partner immediately turns on the loudest, most annoying music known to man, puts his grimy boots up on the dash, and lights a cigarette without opening the window. Gross.

They haven’t even left the parking space yet. Tim can already tell this is going to be a long day.

At least Jason doesn’t push back right away when he presents his plan for searching the various locations identified by the warrant. “We’ll go to his home first. Nathanial Walker lives alone and is definitely at his office right now. Babs is keeping an eye on the traffic cams for us—she’ll let us know when he’s on the move. We can search his car, the office, and the warehouse tonight, after everyone has gone home for the day—”

“We should search the car today,” Jason interrupts.

Tim feels a headache coming on. He should have known this was too easy so far. “We can’t. There’s too much traffic in the parking structure near Walker, Inc. Someone would definitely see us.”

“So? We’re wearing civvies and this is Gotham. I break into the car, you throw some broken glass around on the asphalt to make it look like someone busted a window, we boost it and take it somewhere out of the way to search at our leisure.”

Tim just stares at him in shock. “Wait, what? We’re the police—you really want us to steal our suspect’s car?”

Jason shrugs. “Take a look at the warrant. We can get away with it.”

“We’re allowed to break and enter in order to clandestinely search the suspect’s property for evidence of illegal activities. We are not supposed to seize any items from the premises!”

“This asshole’s doing who knows what with three fuckin’ kids, and you’re gonna argue with me about semantics?”

Tim grimaces. “We put the car back immediately after we’re done,” he bargains. “Leave it a block or two away like the thieves got cold feet or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason nods. “Fine, no lighting the car on fire and abandoning the burned-out husk at the city limits. You’re such a goddamn boy scout.”

“As long as it gets the job done and done right,” Tim says, ignoring his partner’s annoyed huff. He’s worried that the friction between them is going to cause the investigation to suffer. If their inability to work together is detrimental to the case, he’s going to have to put in a request for a new partner. If anyone else is even willing to work with him these days. That isn’t likely, actually, considering he lost the commissioner’s favor so publicly and dramatically.

He sighs as he pulls onto Adams Street and slows down, checking out the expensive Fashion District row houses along the waterfront. With the way things are going at the precinct these days, he might just end up asking to be transferred somewhere else entirely.

At this point, he isn’t even sure he’d mind. With Ives so busy with his own duties, Dick ignoring him in favor of catering to Damian Wayne, and most of the other officers and detectives following Dick’s lead, the only coworker who has even talked to him in the past couple of days is Jason. And that hasn’t exactly been a positive experience, either.

Tim pushes away his morose musings as he pulls up in front of the Harbor Tavern, a few blocks west of their intended target.

“Planning to grab brunch here or something, princess?” Jason steps out of the car and glances curiously at the restaurant, from which a delicious aroma is wafting. His stomach growls audibly and he clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

Biting his lip so he doesn’t laugh at his partner’s embarrassment, Tim makes a quick judgement call. Bully or not, Jason clearly skipped breakfast, if the way he’s gazing longingly at the restaurant is any indicator. “Yeah,” he says, rapidly changing up his mental plans for the morning. “We’ll go for a little walk to get our business done, then come back here and eat at the restaurant so as not to raise suspicion. Just in case anyone notices us hanging around here this morning.”

Jason’s expression clears as he obviously buys Tim’s explanation. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

They head down the street, their arms occasionally brushing together as they maneuver around the crowds of working Gothamites and casually dressed tourists. “I’ll never understand why people actually come to Gotham on vacation,” Tim mutters, staring in disbelief at an obvious out-of-towner. He’s wearing a fanny pack and grinning as though there aren’t three hopeful pickpockets trailing him.

Jason follows his gaze and snorts. “Yeah, I think it’s mostly thrill seekers lookin’ for trouble, and idiots like that dumbass who probably thinks that saving a few hundred on plane tickets and accomodation for his beach vacation is worth having to spend time in fuckin’ Gotham.”

As they watch, one of the pickpockets snips the man’s fanny pack off his waist and then walks purposefully in their direction. Tim makes a soft noise of protest and moves to intercept.

Jason holds him back. “Follow my lead,” he murmurs, continuing to walk forward as though they didn’t notice the theft. As they pass the pickpocket, Jason deftly reaches over and snags the fanny pack back, along with a few wallets. “Huh. Guess this guy already had a busy morning.” He keeps walking.

“Wait—aren’t you going to stop him?” Tim hurries to keep up. “Some of the victims may have money to spare, but not all of them will. For some people, losing a wallet might be financially devastating. We should—” He breaks off, confused.

Jason has stopped walking and is staring at him, a bemused smile curving his lips. “You really sound like you care about them. The poor people, I mean, the ones who would be the most hurt by shit like this.”

Frowning, Tim nods. “Of course I would? It’s our duty to protect everyone in the city, but it’s doubly important to serve and protect those who need our help the most. The most vulnerable citizens are often the most overlooked.” He looks down and shrugs, feeling self-conscious. “Anyway, that’s what I think.” Remembering what just happened, he shakes his head. “That’s why we should really track down that pickpocket and—”

Jason shakes his head, still with that strange, soft smile. It makes his face look completely different. “No need, princess. I grabbed the thief’s wallet, too—see?” He flips open one of the wallets he lifted and shows him. The photo ID matches the suspect perfectly and conveniently provides his name and home address. “We can track him down later when we have the time.”

“Oh,” Tim says, feeling flustered. “That’s good.” Blinking, he remembers the tourist. “Uh, we should probably chase down the tourist to give him back his property and ask him to come in later to file a report.”

Jason nods and they resume walking, quickly catching up to the tourist. The man didn’t even notice his fanny pack was missing. He seems to half-suspect that they’re the ones who took it in the first place, eyeing them with visible suspicion as he opens his fanny pack to double check its contents are all still there.

“Fuckin’ out of towners,” Jason grumbles as they continue on their original course. Tim can’t help but agree.

To his surprise, they manage to search Walker’s home without a hitch. Once they break in—he’s really going to have to ask at some point about Jason’s suspiciously impressive skills at pickpocketing, as well as breaking and entering—Tim beelines straight for the computer while Jason systematically searches the rest of the house. It doesn’t take long to crack the minimal security on Nathaniel Walker’s laptop and begin cloning the hard drive.

Finding the files they’re looking for takes a lot longer. He makes a face after his search for evidence of illegal activities reveals that it’s there, but… It’s buried amidst Walker’s extensive porn collection. Scanned receipts for clandestine shipments are saved with titles like ‘Indiana Bones,’ ‘The Princess Ride,’ and ‘Weapons of Ass Destruction.’

Tim snorts, half-relieved and half-horrified once he realizes the evidence all seems to be hidden behind porn-parody movie titles. He doesn’t envy the unfortunate intern who’s going to have to click through every last one of these files eventually in order to separate the crucial evidence from the actual porn. Or hey—maybe he can get Ives to do it. He smirks.

At least Walker’s taste in porn seems to be fairly vanilla, based on what he has glimpsed so far. He checks on the status of the download—still a few minutes to go. Figuring he has time, he dives into the records he has found so far and begins trying to piece together what Walker has been up to. As far as he can tell, the man has been receiving unspecified goods a couple of times a month and sending them on to several unnamed ‘distributors.’ Some of the records appear to be related to collecting payment from those distributors.

He winces when he finds that one of the collection records is dated the same day that they found their comatose victim. That file has a note reading ‘account in arrears—penalty fee collected.’ Yikes.

“Find anything, princess?”

Startled at the sound of Jason’s voice speaking right behind him, Tim jumps and lets out a highly embarrassing squeak. Blushing furiously, he glances up at the other man. “Yep. I’m just copying everything onto an external drive now. How about you?”

Jason eyes the screen curiously, his brows rising and lips pursing in a low whistle as he figures out how Walker hid his files. “Damn, someone’s going to have fun going through this shit.” Blinking, he looks away from the screen and nods at Tim, his expression going serious. “Yeah, I did find a few things. Took photos of everything, but I think there’s something you’re gonna want to see. Wanna take a look?”

Nodding, Tim rises to follow him. Jason leads him to the garage and gestures to indicate an unmarked, windowless van.

“That isn’t registered to him,” Tim says, frowning. “His only vehicle is the SUV he drives to work. There’s nothing like this on the books for his company, either. Did you run the plates?”

“Yep. This is registered to Bobby Mannheim.” Jason raises a brow and huffs an unamused laugh as Tim sucks in a breath, recognizing the name.

“Wait, Bobby Mannheim as in Bruno Mannheim’s nephew? _Intergang_ leader, Bruno Mannheim?” He was expecting to find evidence of a small criminal empire here, not links to one of Gotham’s major established gangs. Tim’s mind is already working on the lead, though, puzzling out how Walker might fit into Intergang’s activities in the city.

“Yep.” Jason makes a face. “I checked inside. There’s definitely evidence of something being transported in there—it’s got a full load right now, actually. I grabbed a few samples, but I bet you anything it’ll turn out to be the same designer shit they found on our victim.”

Tim nods, still trying to piece things together. “I didn’t have a chance to go through everything on the computer—”

Jason snorts and grins at him. “You mean you didn’t manage to watch thousands of hours of porn to pick out the relevant files yet? Fuck, princess, this case is important. Get on that shit. You gotta go balls to the wall on this one, take one for the team, y’know what I mean?”

He rolls his eyes. “Great, thanks for volunteering for that little task. You can do it later. Have fun with that.” Ignoring the other man’s sputtered protests, he resumes, “Anyway, what I did manage to get through was pretty telling. I found records of Walker receiving unofficial shipments and then distributing the product through a network of unnamed associates, including one whose account apparently fell into arrears and incurred a penalty on a date matching our victim’s beating.”

“Fucker,” Jason growls. “He’s working with Intergang—that’s probably who’s supplying the product.”

Tim nods. “Walker gets a sideline of easy money to help prop up his business, which has been struggling to get along in recent years, no thanks to the tens of thousands of dollars he has skimmed off the top. And Intergang gets a foothold and distribution in the lucrative Fashion District, which is otherwise way outside their territory.”

Raising his eyebrows and looking reluctantly impressed, Jason nods. “Yeah, I can see how they’d be interested in getting a piece of the pie over here. Get a bunch of rich bastards hooked, and they’ve got a whole new influx of cash.”

Their eyes meet, matching worried expressions on their faces. “We gotta stop these fuckers. Not just the small fry—we can get bigger targets in our net if we play this right.” Jason looks more serious and open than he has ever seen him.

“We might be able to bring down Intergang,” Tim says, his heart racing at the thought. “Okay, I vote we hold off on searching the rest of the locations until we have time to process what we got here, and maybe set up a stakeout at the warehouse. I don’t want to risk tipping off Walker or Intergang by stumbling around in the dark. My bet’s on the transfers happening at the warehouse, but we can probably glean more information about when and where the next transfer will be happening once we dig through the data from Walker’s computer.”

He hesitates, frowning, then says, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to actually enter the warehouse at this time—they most likely have cameras set up if that’s where they’re storing the bulk of the product and conducting their main operations. Stakeouts are dull, but we should be able to confirm the players involved and document who’s going in and out of there without giving away that we’re on to them.”

Jason nods. “Sounds like a plan, princess.” He grins, and it’s nothing like any of the smiles Tim has seen from him before. He looks even more gorgeous when he forgets to be a total asshole.

 _Damn,_ Tim thinks as he stares, dazed, at his partner’s happy, handsome face. _I’m in trouble, aren’t I?_

Well, at least they’re making progress on the case. And Jason is bound to do something dickish at any moment and remind him exactly why he is not someone Tim should be interested in. He shakes his head, brushing aside the weird moment. “Okay, let’s grab the hard drive and head back in. It’s time to get to work.”

Jason nods, but his shoulders droop slightly. “Sounds good,” he says, sounding unaccountably disappointed.

Tim frowns, running through what he just said again. After a moment, he remembers. “Oh, I mean after we stop for brunch,” he says. “Gotta make sure we aren’t the least bit suspicious. After all, someone might have noticed us parked in front of the Harbor Tavern all this time. We’ve got to sell it, right?” He smiles.

His partner straightens and smiles back, looking relieved. “Yeah. Sounds good, partner.” This time, it sounds like he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, doing casework together:** “This is going surprisingly well and I’m uncomfortable with that” *Continue to investigate, glancing at one another every so often as though waiting for something to go horribly wrong*  
>  **Jason’s stomach:** *Growls so loudly that Tim dives under the nearest table and covers his head like a bomb drill*  
>  **Jason, going incandescent in embarrassment:** “Aw geez, ignore that. I forgot to eat breakfast today—”   
> **Tim, scurrying out from under desk and grabbing Jason’s hand:** *Drags him out of suspect’s house and down the street to awesome restaurant* “Dude we gotta feed you, there’s no way we can stay undercover at a stakeout if your stomach keeps growling that loud. It’ll give us away!”   
> **Jason, considering that:** “Yeah, okay” *Forgets to pull his hand away, ends up holding hands with Tim all the way to the restaurant. Likes it*


	4. Chapter 4

The ocean breeze whips the sparkling water into pretty, glinting little peaks and if Jason didn’t know damn well the kind of shit that’s under the surface, Gotham Harbor would look almost beautiful. There’s a metaphor there, he thinks as he turns to stare at his partner’s annoyingly handsome face, but he’s not going to waste any time figuring it out.

Instead, he tucks into the lavish breakfast he ordered. The rooftop patio at the Harbor Tavern has a spectacular view, and the food is pretty damn good, too. He makes a mental note to come back here sometime for fun. Right now, though, it’s all about work.

“Damn it,” Tim says, frowning as he checks his phone. “Ives absolutely refuses to do the data search for us, and there aren’t any interns available.” He scowls as he stabs a bite of eggs with his fork.

Jason chuckles. “You shouldn’t have warned him about what, exactly, that data search would entail. Guess you and me are gonna have a busy afternoon going through all that porn ourselves.” This is going to be hilarious. He’ll have to capitalize on Tim’s fair skin and propensity to blush at the slightest hint of embarrassment.

Tim just rolls his eyes, his thumbs moving rapidly over his phone as he texts his friend.

Jason eats a few bites of food—sizzling, savory sausages, fluffy, lightly seasoned omelette with roasted vegetables, perfectly crisped hash browns, and a side of mixed berries and whipped cream, fuck yeah—and then takes a long pull of iced tea to wash it all down.

He clears his throat, eyeing the rest of his plate regretfully. “Think it’s about time to go?” If they’re just here to establish a cover for their presence in the neighborhood which doesn’t involve breaking and entering, they probably shouldn’t linger. Even if the food is fucking delicious. Jason takes a bite of the pancakes—fluffy, perfect—and completely fails to suppress a loud moan.

Drake blushes, staring at him like he just stripped down to his boxers and started dirty dancing on the table. From the expression on his face, he might just be into that kind of thing. Jason smirks, causing his partner’s flush to spread across his cheeks and start creeping down toward his shirt collar. Drake clears his throat, looking down at his empty coffee mug with a laughably sad expression on his handsome face.

Jason rolls his eyes and grabs the carafe the waiter left on their table. Leaning forward, he refills his partner’s mug, telling himself all the while that it’s just to keep him awake and alert and not because he’s so fucking cute when he smiles.

“Thanks,” Drake says, taking a sip and then letting out an obscene moan of his own before he lowers his mug and looks at Jason again. “I think we should stay at least a few more minutes, don’t you? Our business will keep.” He raises an eyebrow and takes a bite of his nutritious but really fucking boring eggwhite omelette. He must try to eat healthy some of the time to make up for all the black coffee and goddamn donuts he scarfs down every day at the precinct.

Well, Jason is not opposed to lingering for a while. He polishes off half of his breakfast before saying anything else. The light, warm breeze tugs at his hair as he looks out over the water again. The waiter seated them at a small, intimate table overlooking the harbor, and it’s actually pretty fucking nice. He didn’t know there were places like this in Gotham. It’s kind of weird to be here with his partner, though.

Their legs are tangled together because it’s literally impossible to fit them under the tiny table in any other configuration. The circumstances feel enough like a goddamn date that he starts to find the extended silence uncomfortable after a while.

“So, what made you go into this line of work?” he blurts out, then wishes he could bite back the words. He doesn’t need to hear Drake’s lies about joining the force to save the world, not when he knows the truth. Tim Drake is just following the money, being a good little boy and getting a job that will help give his wealthy parents an out when their company inevitably does something shitty and illegal.

Drake looks surprised, sculpted eyebrows arching over his pretty blue eyes. He bites his lip, looking down. “Uh, it’s kind of embarrassing, actually.” He fiddles with his napkin, glances at the stairs down to the street, and generally looks as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Oh?” Jason leans forward, suddenly interested. Maybe Drake is going to be honest with him, after all, and there’s more to his motivations than just straight graft. There are a lot of ways for a cop to get their hands dirty. He could use a few more reasons to hate his partner—Drake’s stupid hotness and today’s mutual cooperation have been hell on his ability to detest the guy. “Do tell.”

“Ugh,” Drake says, burying his face is his hands. “Fine, but only because I know you can probably weasel the story out of Dick if you really want to know.” He raises his head, giving Jason a rueful smile. “So, when I was a kid I used to slip out of the house at night a lot.”

“Meeting girls?” Jason snorts, then remembers what happened the other day. “Or boys?” He keeps his tone nonjudgemental. “I’m equal opportunity, myself.”

Drake pauses, blush rising again as he stares at him. He swallows and turns away with a little smile on his lips. “Noted. Me too. But, uh, it wasn’t anything like that. I mean, considering I was six at the time, that would be pretty messed up.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I used to slip out of the house and just wander the city at night, taking pictures of things I thought were cool or interesting.”

“Wait, what?” He feels like he’s missed something here. “You just said you were six. When you say city, do you mean some other city? Because there’s no way in hell that fucking Gotham was safe at night for a little kid.” Especially not an obviously rich, soft little kid like he suspects Drake was. “Where the hell were your parents? Sleeping off the wine from dinner or the Valium or something?”

“Travelling, most of the time,” Drake says with a shrug. He lifts his coffee mug and takes another appreciative drink. “I ran the numbers once out of curiosity. They were around for a cumulative total of about three months a year on average throughout my childhood. The rest of the time, I was on my own with the housekeeper, and she went home to her own family at night. So, I had a lot more freedom than most kids.”

“Shit,” Jason says, feeling like he’s been punched in the gut. The foundation he built on which he built his hatred of Drake is wobbling. Desperately, he tries to save it. “But you’re still the heir apparent or whatever. I bet they always bought you whatever you wanted, to make up for not spending time with you.” He waits for the other man to break out a smug smile and then brag about the fancy cars and cruises his neglectful, asshole parents use as bribes to keep him on their leash.

“Actually, no. My parents disowned me when I joined the force.” Drake calmly takes a bite of a strawberry, seemingly not realizing the extent to which his words have thrown his companion for a loop. “I was a tremendous disappointment to them.”

“What?” That’s fucked up.

Drake finishes his strawberry and shrugs diffidently. “They wanted me to go into business. I didn’t. Anyway, we don’t need to get into that. Back to what I was saying—this all ties into your question before, about why I joined the force in the first place. So, on those late night excursions, I eventually ran into trouble.”

“No shit,” Jason grumbles, still twitching internally at the idea of Drake wandering Gotham with no one the wiser back when he was practically a baby. His hands tighten into fists as he considers the possibility that his parents did know and just didn’t care. Pieces of shit.

“Some older boys tried to rough me up and steal my camera,” Drake resumes. “They almost—well, it doesn’t matter. A police officer pulled them away from me and scared them off. He saved me.” He looks down, locks of dark hair falling over his eyes. “That man was Bruce Wayne, rookie cop.”

“Holy shit,” Jason says, still stuck on the fact that, but for an accident of timing and luck, Drake might have been nothing but a tragic statistic. Then the rest of his words register. “Wait, Bruce Wayne, the commissioner?” His eyebrows fly up. “So what, you became a cop to make him proud or something, even though it pissed off your parents?” No way. There’s got to be a selfish motive here somewhere. Everyone’s in it for something, right?

“Oh, no—I didn’t tell him my name, so I doubt he even remembers he saved me. He was so kind, though. He told me I seemed like a bright boy, and to watch out and make sure I grew up into a fine man.” Drake shrugs. “I went home and thought about what he said. After a while, I decided the police officer who saved me was the finest man I knew and that spending time around him was probably my best chance at learning to be a fine man myself. So, I went back out the next night—”

“Oh my god,” Jason says, guessing where this is going. “Please tell me you didn’t stalk the commissioner.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Jesus.”

“No, it’s Tim.” He snickers, the fucking dork.

“Tim,” Jason tries. Knowing what he does now, it doesn’t feel quite right thinking of the other man as Drake. Fine. Tim it is, then.

Tim smiles. “He wasn’t a commissioner back then, just a police officer. He made detective a few years later, then commissioner shortly after that when former Commissioner Gordon retired and chose him as his successor. I saw Bruce Wayne solve a lot of crimes over those years, and watched him save so many people.” He blushes, looking self-conscious. “I used to take pictures and keep a notebook of clues, trying to figure things out before he did.”

Jason chuckles, touched by the mental image of tiny Tim Drake playing detective. “That’s fuckin’ adorable.” He sobers quickly. “Still shitty that you were in that kind of situation. The adults in your life dropped the goddamn ball.” Sitting back, he takes a long drink of his iced tea, then sets the glass down next to his empty plate. “Huh. I guess that’s a pretty damn good reason to join the force.”

It is. It’s sure as hell more noble than his own reason, which was to deal with assholes like his dad and all the other scum who think it’s okay to hurt women and children. He doesn’t care if they use fists or drugs or some other weapons to do the damage—they all deserve to be punished.

Tim chuckles, finishing off what has to be at least his third cup of coffee. “I like to think so. It’s still embarrassing, though.”

Grinning, Jason snickers. “Yeah, because now we all know what a little goddamn stalker you are—”

Tim blushes and pulls out what looks like approximately a hundred bucks more than the cost of their meal. He nudges it under a glass for their waiter and then rises to his feet. “I think it’s about time we headed back and got to work,” he says smoothly.

“Don’t think that’s gonna make me forget this.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

But as Tim gestures for Jason to precede him down the stairs, he’s smiling, looking lighter and happier than he has since they met. Seeing him like this, Jason feels a deep tug of want. He wonders what it would take to keep his partner looking that way. For the first time, he considers the possibility that might be something he’d be interested in.

Well, damn. He’ll have to keep an eye on Tim for a while longer—make him prove himself. After all, plenty of assholes know how to hide behind a sob story. Jason has a feeling his partner was telling the truth, though.

Only time will tell. Meanwhile, he’s going to lay off the hazing bullshit. If Tim’s on the up-and-up, then he doesn’t deserve it. If he’s secretly an amoral rich bastard, then Jason will figure that out later and work doubly hard to make his life hell until he quits the force.

Resolved, Jason steps into Tim’s shitty car, feeling damn good. He had a great morning working on the case, ate a fucking amazing breakfast, and spent some quality time with a pretty, pretty man who might, possibly, turn out not to be a total dick.

Then he remembers that he’s probably going to spend a sizable chunk of the afternoon trawling through their perp’s porn collection with Tim, and grins. It’s not hazing if he’s just teasing his partner to see that cute blush, right?

Yeah, definitely not. Jason notices Tim eyeing him warily as they drive back to the precinct. He tries to school his expression, but his partner just looks even more alarmed. Eh, whatever. Clearly he has good instincts.

They step into the precinct and head for their desks, where Tim quickly uploads the files. He divides the list in half and splits the work between them. “You want top or bottom?” he asks, glancing up at Jason.

Fuck, this is too damn easy. “Princess, for you, I could go either way.” He winks, then grins as his partner goes redder than he’s ever seen.

This is going to be so damn fun.

* * *

Damian washes his hands fastidiously, eyeing the slightly run down facilities with disdain. The precinct in which he trained and served was far better appointed than this. He smirks. Of course, his mother’s frequent, substantial donations perhaps went some distance toward securing superior facilities and equipment.

He glances around the bathroom again, scoffing. Surely his father will consider remodeling if he makes the request. Pushing aside the wave of anxiety and uncertainty which attempts to rise at the thought of his father, Damian strides toward the door. He raises his foot, intending to kick it open as is his wont so as to avoid touching the no doubt filthy handle with his hand.

“So, we’ll head over to Walker’s warehouse on Frontage Road first thing in the morning,” a deep voice says, the sound emanating from just outside the door. Todd.

Damian grimaces. The detective is highly experienced, more than five years older than Damian himself, and has numerous successes under his belt. However, he also has a lengthy record of disciplinary actions resulting from misconduct, usually received in punishment for questionable actions performed in the name of achieving his goals.

Sloppy. Damian is confident that Todd will never impress his father. After all, he was cast aside once already. He leans forward, ready to open the door, and then freezes at the sound of another voice.

“That’s the plan,” Drake says, sounding irritatingly pleased. “We have a solid case. All we need now is a little additional evidence, and we’ll find that at the warehouse. Remember, we’re meeting here at eight and then we’ll head over together.”

Todd makes sounds of agreement, and then both of their voices fade. Damian scoffs. They are clearly leaving for the day, and it’s barely past midnight. While they seem to have kept busy enough after wandering in far later in the morning that should be considered appropriate, he is unimpressed by what he has seen of their work ethic. It doesn’t help matters that they had their heads together all day, snickering and muffling laughter occasionally at whatever they were viewing on one of their screens.

Damian walked past once or twice to check, and the randy nincompoops were viewing _pornography_ again _._ They are clearly dangerously inept and should be dismissed at once. He also glimpsed a few pages of the Walker file strewn over their desks each time he passed by. That case should have been his.

Lazy, incompetent fools. As soon as he demonstrates his own worth to his father, he’ll see about having them removed from the department, or at least reduced to walking a beat. Perhaps passing out traffic tickets. His lips twist into a smug smile at the pleasing thought.

Drake is unlike Todd, loath as Damian is to admit it. A mere two years older than Damian’s twenty, he possesses an exemplary record. Worse, he was known as Father’s most recent hand-picked protege prior to Damian’s arrival on the scene.

If he wants to prove himself—and he does—then Drake is clearly the man to beat. Thinking about what he just overheard, Damian is fairly certain that he knows exactly how to do it.

He waits a few more minutes before he nudges the door open with his boot and then edges out of the bathroom. Drake’s and Todd’s pathetic workstation is visible immediately to the side. He turns and examines their desktops, finding nothing useful. No matter. He knows the Walker file well—after all, he spent several hours poring over everything on his new desk on his first morning, prior to Drake’s shamefully late, chaotic arrival.

Damian even has access to the fingerprint analysis for the case, and he is aware that Drake pulled a covert search warrant for Walker’s properties. He snorts. “Seriously? They do not intend to go investigate until tomorrow? I heard Grayson mention that the warrant was granted early this morning. They should have already completed the task.” Rolling his eyes, he stares into space, considering. After a moment, he lifts his chin.

If Drake and Todd refuse to do their jobs properly, then Damian will just have to pick up the slack. After all, technically, the case should belong to him anyway. It was merely Grayson’s pity that caused him to hand it off to his pathetic former partner.

Decided, Damian moves to gather everything he might need. He will go to the warehouse tonight and obtain whatever evidence there is to be had. Surely if he manages to solve this case alone, his father will see that he is the best detective, and a worthy son.

If he also sees how terribly lacking Drake and Todd are by comparison, well, that is merely a pleasant bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, enjoying a leisurely breakfast out with Tim:** “Fuck this is good” *Leans back, barely notices the way their feet are tangled together under the table. Only notices they’re holding hands when he starts idly stroking Tim’s wrist with his thumb*  
>  **Tim, highly suspicious that this is all just another mean-spirited prank:** *Just rolls with it because it’s still the closest thing to a date he’s had in months* “Right? Too bad we have to spoil it by watching endless hours of porn for our job” *Sighs, starts the porn marathon*  
>  **Damian, eyeing them angrily through a pair of binoculars from his office, which has Tim’s name scratched out on the door and his written in with sharpie:** “Those lazy fools are watching pornography again! How dare!” *Resolves to solve their case for them and steal all the acclaim for himself. Fails to realize the numerous developments in the case since he last read through the file, goes off half-cocked on his own* “This cannot possibly go wrong!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for gunfire exchange between detectives and suspects, resulting in minor injuries all around (assume comic book logic in which gunshot wounds heal quickly and cleanly with minimal need for physical therapy, etc).

Whistling, Dick nudges the door open with his hip and then steps into his office. He waves a bag of bagels at his new partner, hoping to tempt some interest or at least a smile out of the far too serious young man. “Hey Dami, I got us some bagels! You’ve got to try the chocolate-bacon-onion ones—they’re the best.”

Damian glances up from his work, looking appalled. “Grayson, that sounds disgusting. Please consume them at your own desk if you must. I do not wish to see or smell such an abomination.”

Dick snickers, pulling a brownish, aromatic bagel out of the bag and stuffing more than half of it into his mouth in one bite. “‘Ou’re ‘issin’ ou’,” he says, his words rendered almost unintelligible by his inability to fully close his mouth.

“I highly doubt it,” Damian says with a huff before turning back to his work.

Undeterred, Dick edges up behind his partner. “What are you working on?” It has been difficult to continue trying to reach the younger man over the past week, but he has to keep at it. Underneath the rude, prickly, occasionally downright cruel surface, he’s convinced that Damian has a soft, kind center which would be worth getting to know.

“It is none of your business. Kindly step back—your breath reeks of an inhuman stench!”

Way, _way_ beneath the surface. Geez, his breath can’t be that bad. After all, the bagel’s delicious. How can something so tasty smell anything but good?

Dick sighs, then frowns as he takes in the contents of the paperwork spread out on the other man’s desk. “Wait, why are you looking at the Walker file? Tim and Jay are on that one.” Momentarily, he feels a wistful tug of regret that he isn’t partnered with one of them these days. His days working with Jason were tempestuous—both of them are too stubborn and quick to anger—but it was also a lot of fun. And boy, did they have an amazing solve rate.

His solve rate with Tim was even better, although it isn’t really a fair comparison. Bruce was still working on cleaning out the corruption in the force when Jason and Dick were partners, so some of their cases were internal and thus didn’t count for the general solve rate.

Dick winces, thinking of Tim. He’s pretty sure he screwed up royally there. He needs to find some time to talk to him, maybe take him out for beers and just vent together about anything and everything. Bruce sprang Damian on him so quickly that he didn’t have time to think about anything else, let alone get hold of Tim and give him any kind of warning.

Still, the memory of Tim’s face when he found out that he wasn’t going to be his partner anymore—devastated, betrayed—makes his heart twist. Dick should have found a way to tell him himself, without Damian’s presence to aggravate the issue. He could have softened the blow and helped make the transition easier for his former partner. Maybe he can carve out some time soon and talk to his friend. He owes him an apology at the very least.

“Those inept buffoons will not be on this case for much longer,” Damian says in a satisfied-sounding voice.

It takes Dick a moment to remember the context. “What do you mean?” he asks warily. Damian has already gotten away with being unpardonably rude to Tim more than once. Dick isn’t going to let him try to muscle in on the other detective’s cases, as well. “Dami, I think you should put those files back where you found them. We have plenty of our own cases to solve, and I’m sure Jason and Tim are on top of things—”

“They are not!” Damian says hotly, spinning in his chair to glare at him. “If they were, I would not have had to go out last night and conduct the search of Walker’s warehouse myself because the two of them dithered and dallied and wasted an entire day after receiving the search warrant!” He rolls his eyes. “They were planning to go do it this _morning,_ a full twenty-four hours after the warrant was granted! Incompetent fools.”

Alarm bells begin to ring faintly in the back of Dick’s mind. Delaying a search without solid logic behind the decision does not sound like Tim. Not at all. If he intentionally left the search until this morning, then he probably had a damn good reason behind it. Whatever that reason was, it’s entirely within the realm of possibility that Damian going in half-cocked last night may have blown Tim’s carefully laid plans all to hell.

He needs to deal with this and then take Damian aside and lay down some ground rules. To hell with Bruce—if he’s upset about Dick being firm with his kid, then he should have stayed here and damn well parented Damian himself.

Damian is still talking. “I found abundant evidence of drug trafficking operations at the warehouse in question. I was easily able to collect incriminating photographs and a sample of the wares.” He scoffs. “This case should have been solved long ago. The operation appears to be quite large.”

Frowning, Dick shakes his head. “Drugs, huh? Well, that’s in line with Tim’s theories. But… An operation like that around here wouldn’t be left unguarded. If you didn’t see any guards, then most likely there were cameras—”

Damian’s eyes widen. It’s clear that he didn’t consider that possibility in his haste to show up his self-appointed rival. Metropolis likely doesn’t have the same level of organized crime as Gotham, so Damian isn’t familiar with the scale on which things are done here. Dick’s stomach twists at the realization that his young partner’s impetuosity may very well have blown weeks of careful work.

Then he remembers Damian mentioning that Tim and Jason were planning to head over to the warehouse this morning. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rise at the thought of them walking into there, not knowing that they have potentially been compromised. If the criminals are aware that the warehouse was searched last night and are on the lookout for the police…

Dick grimaces, not wanting to follow that train of thought to its fiery trainwreck of a conclusion. “Dami,” he says softly, his voice dropping into the cold, dark register he usually reserves for criminals he’s about to apprehend, “exactly what time were they planning to go in?” Please let them still have time to fix this.

Damian tenses and sits up straight. His eyes widen slightly and he searches Dick’s face, clearly attempting to discern a reason for his intense reaction. He glances at the wall clock and then turns back to look at him doubtfully. “Now,” he says quietly, in an uncharacteristically subdued voice.

Shit.

Dick reaches for his radio, planning to raise Tim and Jason and tell them to belay their search. As his hand closes on the radio, it crackles to life and he hears the worst possible words he could imagine. “Send backup—officer down.”

His face twists even as he leaps to his feet and heads for the door. Tim and Jason just walked into a trap, and Damian’s the one who set it.

* * *

Everything seems to be going well—Tim arrived at the precinct first thing in the morning, and instead of snide remarks and mean-spirited pranks, Jason met him with a grin and a travel cup of hot, fragrant coffee. He even took a sip of it himself to prove that he hadn’t done anything unspeakable to it.

Tim isn’t the most trusting guy, especially not this early in the morning, but the coffee proved to be delicious and untampered with. He yawns and stretches in his seat as they wait at a red light, two blocks from their destination. He’s planning to park in the alley next to the apartment building across the street from the Walkers’ warehouse. He’ll park facing south so they will have a clear view from their vehicle of the Walkers’ warehouse on the other side of Frontage Road.

“Seems a little obvious,” Jason grumbles as he shifts in his seat, getting comfortable. The light changes and Tim eases on the accelerator as Jason snags a pastry from the bag they bought on the way. “What the fuck are we supposed to be doing here, anyway? Enjoying the shitty view? Damn, I wish we could’ve gotten into one of those apartments at short notice. Stakeouts in cars suck ass.”

Tim allows himself a small smile. He already thought of this. “We’re waiting for our friend who lives in one of these apartments. They’re running late. I’ll check my phone every five minutes, frowning each time. You’ll just sit there with your usual expression—your resting asshole face is all we need to make it look like our friend flaked on us and we’re pissed about it. After thirty minutes, we’ll get tired of waiting and leave, visibly annoyed.”

“And then?” Jason sounds cautious. After all, most of the action at the warehouse is scheduled to happen an hour from now. They need to keep the stakeout going for far longer than half an hour.

Tim turns right into the alley. It’s empty except from some trash and an old, battered shopping cart, which he navigates around carefully. “That will give us the chance to drive around and park behind the apartment building, at which point we will use the fire escape to climb up to the roof. From there, we’ll have an even better vantage point to view and document the comings and goings from the warehouse.”

“Huh. Well, I guess that makes sense. Gives us a chance to go in close and get some shots of the Intergang bigwigs arriving, then lets us hang back when the loads start coming in and out and we’ll want to be able to cover all the entrances at once.” Jason nods slowly. “Good plan, princess.”

Tim rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest the nickname. It’s kind of growing on him. As he slows the car to a halt just back from the mouth of the alley, they both look through the windshield. The warehouse is right in front of them, rising gray and weather-beaten against the cloudy sky. It should be empty and quiet right now.

It isn’t. Tim frowns.

The hours they both spent yesterday trawling through Nathaniel Walker’s extensive porn collection proved well worth it in the end. They were able to construct a detailed itinerary, right down to the hour. They know when Intergang members in Walker, Inc. uniforms should arrive at the warehouse to open up the bay doors. Within an hour of that, Walker’s neighborhood drug distributors should begin to trickle in, blending into the regular flow of legitimate shipments arriving at and leaving from the warehouse.

All they need to do is photograph and document everything so the evidence can be used to build a case against the players involved. Walker is going down just based on what they found at his house, but this stakeout can bring down a sizable chunk of Intergang, too.

At least, that’s the theory. Tim stares at the flurry of activity surrounding the open bay doors of the warehouse. “This isn’t right,” he says, his frown deepening. What looks like at least a dozen men, some in Walker, Inc. uniforms and others in street clothing, seem to be busy clearing out the warehouse. They’re only moving select crates, and he’s willing to bet he knows exactly what’s in them.

“They got wind somehow,” Jason growls, glaring at him. “Did you trip something in Walker’s computer yesterday?”

Tim shakes his head. “No. Besides, that doesn’t track. We searched Walker’s house yesterday morning—if that was what tipped them off, then they would have cleared out last night. It makes much more sense to do it under cover of darkness. No, something must have spooked them later for them to be doing this in broad daylight.” His brow furrows as he tries to figure out what might have been the trigger.

“Then what the fuck could it have been? We didn’t do jack shit after—” Jason breaks off, his eyes widening in alarm at something he sees in front of the car. “Tim _drive—”_

Glancing up as he reflexively presses the accelerator, Tim sees that six of the gathered men are eyeing their car with suspicion. Several of them are already beginning to approach the parked vehicle with threatening expressions on their faces. He jams his foot down on the gas, but it’s already too late. Two of the men raise guns and discharge them in their direction. He flinches at the loud popping sounds, then gasps and grips the wheel tighter when the car’s forward motion suddenly goes rough and the wheel jerks in his hands.

Well, shit.

“They shot out my damn tires!” He keeps driving, not particularly caring if he damages the vehicle more by driving on the rims. Better to trash the car than allow the criminals a better shot at either of them. They’re sitting ducks if he stops. It takes both hands to steer and he grimaces, realizing he can’t go fast enough like this to get them out of danger cleanly. “Fuck!”

“Was that a goddamn curse word, princess? I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.” Jason winks before raising his voice to shout at the suspects. “Gotham City Police Department—hold your fire and stand down!” They ignore his words. If anything, the number of rounds being fired in their direction increases. Seemingly unsurprised at the response, he pulls out his service revolver and calmly fires five rounds through the windshield as they burst jerkily out of the alley. Four of their attackers fall back, clutching their bleeding knees. “Damn, I missed.”

A fifth attacker crumples to the ground, apparently having a delayed reaction to his knee being shot out.

Jason snickers. “Never mind, I still got it.” More gang members swarm out of the warehouse, several of whom begin shooting in their direction. He takes aim again and returns fire, apparently more concerned now with holding the remaining attackers off than accuracy.

Nine shots, Tim’s brain supplies, keeping count automatically. “Holy shit,” he breathes, concentrating on navigating around the fallen Intergang members who are lying in the street, moaning and holding their knees. Jason is a damn good shot. “I can’t believe they’re going after us like this in broad daylight.”

Jason is silent, too busy returning fire to reply. Twelve shots. There are still eight gang members visible, some of them inside the warehouse and others sheltering behind parked cars. All of them seem to have guns, and they’re all firing at Tim’s battered car as it limps forward.

The car finally emerges completely from the alley and Tim has to make a choice. He can go left onto Frontage Road and then right on Dillon, which would get them out of range the fastest, but would expose Jason’s side of the car to the gang members’ fire. Or, he can go right and be stuck on Frontage Road for an entire block before the next available turn, with his own side of the vehicle exposed the whole time.

Jason’s service weapon finally goes silent. Fifteen shots. Tim grits his teeth and turns right.

Swearing, Jason scrambles to reload. “What the fuck are you doing? The other way’s faster, dumbass!”

Tim doesn’t answer. Without the threat of Jason shooting at them, the gangsters are growing bolder. They’re shooting more, and their aim is improving. He lets out a soft, hurt exhalation as he feels a sharp impact in his side. “Shit,” he breathes shakily as what feels like lines of fire begin radiating out from the point of impact.

Jason’s head whips around to stare at him, his gaze immediately dropping to the dark stain spreading on Tim’s crisp white shirt. _“Fuck!”_ He reaches across and grabs Tim’s loaded service weapon from its holster, then rolls down his window and heaves his upper body out so he can fire across the top of the car. “Eat lead and choke, you goddamn pieces of shit!” His shots this time are spaced longer apart. Apparently, he’s taking the time to aim precisely—well, as precisely as possible while half-hanging out the window of a beat-up car that’s riding on its rims at a rousing speed of twelve miles per hour. Each of his shots is followed by a loud scream and subsequent reduction in return fire.

After Jason’s last shot, the sound of return fire stops completely.

The car rolls bumpily to a halt, Tim’s leg apparently no longer able to manage the simple act of exerting pressure on the pedal. Numbly, he puts the car in park.

Jason climbs out the window and jogs around the car to the driver’s side, where he throws open the door before undoing Tim’s seatbelt and gently easing him out of the vehicle. He lays him down carefully on the sidewalk, making sure their stopped vehicle is between them and the groaning, injured gang members. Tim gasps, agony ripping through him at the movement. Falling unconscious to escape the pain seems like a pretty good idea right now.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding a lot.” Jason strips off his own sweatshirt and begins to bundle it up into a ball. “Why the hell didn’t you turn _left,_ princess?” His voice is husky and he’s gritting his teeth, his expression as pained as if he were the one who was shot. “You woulda been fine. No way they’d get a lucky shot in to tag you past the car door and me.”

“Not sorry,” Tim manages. “Made the right call.”

Then Jason jams the bundle into his side, and he’s on fire. All he can see as excruciating pain lights up his side and his vision starts to dim are Jason’s wide, wide blue eyes, staring at him in horror as his mouth forms the word, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, breezing into his office with bagels and joy:** “Yay! I’m so glad everyone I know is safe and happy and working well together right now—”   
> **Damian, coughing:** “Uh, so about that—” *Confesses diabolical plan to win favor with his father by stealing Tim and Jason’s case*  
>  **Dick, reading between the lines and figuring out the implications:** “Wait omg you put them both in terrible danger!” *Hurries to save Tim and Jason, gets there just in time to see Tim get shot* “NooooOOOO!” *Falls to his knees in suitably dramatic fashion, yanking at his hair*   
> **Tim, unconscious on the filthy Gotham ground:** “…”   
> **Jason, performing CPR and simultaneously removing the bullet and stitching Tim’s wound:** *Gives him a dirty look* “What’s a guy gotta do to get a little fuckin’ help around here?”  
>  **Tim, unconscious on the filthy Gotham ground:** “…”


	6. Chapter 6

Jason is a little fuzzy on the details of what happens immediately after Tim gets shot. He just knows that some of those shitheads stand back up, and one of them points a gun at Tim. “Send backup—officer down,” he chokes out into the radio before charging at the dumbass who is standing there like he’s about to shoot the unarmed, wounded man already bleeding out on the goddamn ground.

After that, it’s all a bit of a blur. Jason is pretty sure that he beat the shit out of that dude with his own gun, cuffed him, and read him his rights while grinding his asshole face into the filthy pavement.

It’s possible some might consider that to be undue force. Right now, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

As soon as the scene is secure, he rushes back to Tim’s side. He’s pale, his fist dug into his own side over Jason’s rolled-up hoodie. It looks like maybe he woke up enough to try to stem the bleeding and then lost consciousness again.

“Shit,” Jason breathes, dropping to his knees and doing what he can to administer first aid. He has to get on the radio again—it has been screaming at him ever since he said that Tim was down. Whatever. There should be backup and an ambulance on the way. Right now, he just needs to focus on keeping Tim from losing too much blood and slipping into shock.

It seems like forever before another car pulls up. When he sees who it is, he grimaces. “Of fucking course it has to be you shitheads,” he mutters, glaring at Damian Wayne’s cocky young face. Then he frowns. Instead of his usual expression of dickish pride, the kid actually looks—chastened? What the hell?”

Grayson is out of the car in a heartbeat. Jason wouldn’t swear to it, but he thinks the man might have actually somersaulted over his cruiser in his urgency. There’s no other explanation for how he reaches their sides so fast, his knees hitting the sidewalk right on the edge of the growing bloodstain around Tim. “What happened?” he says in a rough, raw voice, his hands hovering over Tim like he wants to help and isn’t sure where to even begin.

“They made us almost as soon as we got here. I don’t know how the fuck they knew we were investigating—” Jason breaks off, staring at Damian. The asshole is shifting, avoiding eye contact, and generally looking guilty as fuck. “You little _shit._ What the _fuck_ did you do?”

Damian’s face pales as he stares at Tim’s huddled form. “Is he okay?” He looks like he might be about to puke.

“What the fuck do you think he’s doing, taking a goddamn nap right here in the street? No, he’s not okay. Dumbass.” Jason bares his teeth, almost hoping the kid will say something offensive just so he can have an excuse to rip him to shreds.

“I’m sorry,” Damian says jerkily, looking sick. “I just wanted to solve the case. I overheard you discussing the warehouse, and I came out and searched it last night. There must have been cameras I missed. I—I never intended—”

Fury rises as he realizes that Tim might die because this little shit was waving his dick around, trying to prove what a big man he is. If he went in that warehouse, there’s every chance it triggered a tellatale or twenty. An operation this size run by professionals like Intergang almost always has security cameras and other measures in place to protect the goods—hell, that’s exactly why he and Tim were on a stakeout in the first place and didn’t just go in and grab the evidence their damn selves. Damian Wayne deserves a boot up the ass and a punch in the face, preferably delivered by Jason.

He sighs. Damn it. As much as he’d love to punch this egotistical, entitled jerk right in his smug face, he looks at him and knows he isn’t going to do it.

The kid is staring at Tim, guilt and horror written all over him. He looks every inch the scared twenty year-old he is, thrown out of his depth and desperately trying to prove himself to the cold, distant, exacting father he never met.

Jason remembers what it was like trying to prove himself to Bruce. He also remembers what it felt like to give it everything he had and still fall short, time and again. He can’t even imagine how much worse it must be for his own fucking kid.

Dick glances back and forth between them anxiously, then exhales softly as the sound of sirens approaches and an ambulance swings into sight. He looks tremendously relieved. “How about we talk about this later?” His brow furrows as he looks at Jason beseechingly. “There will be a full investigation and an incident report. I promise.” The look he sends Damian is pitying, but hard and cold as iron.

It’s enough to give Jason hope that this bullshit isn’t going to end up just getting shoved under the rug. He glares at them both for a minute longer—Damian took his little pissing contest way the hell too far when he endangered the lives of other officers. Jason doesn’t care who his daddy is. That’s the kind of bullshit that should earn him a reprimand at the very least, and possibly the loss of his badge, depending on the exact chain of actions that led to Tim bleeding out in the fucking street.

“Fine,” Jason growls, sitting back and then rising shakily to his feet as the paramedics rush in and rapidly surround Tim. They move quickly and professionally, checking and stabilizing him before loading him efficiently into the ambulance. Jason wishes like hell he could follow him in, but there are still the injured criminals and the scene to process. It’s possible that they can salvage the case, at least, since all of the evidence is still sitting in trucks backed up to the warehouse bay doors or lying around groaning and bleeding from the knees.

He smirks. At least he knows whichever son of a bitch shot Tim regrets it now. He made sure he got every last one of them.

As he scans the scene, figuring out what to prioritize, he thinks about how a week ago he would have been fucking ecstatic for a chance to work alone again and not have to deal with Tim. He doesn’t feel like that now. Not at all.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jason forces himself to get back to work. Tim didn’t almost die for Jason to let any of these assholes slip through the net now. He’s not going to let a single damn one of them wiggle out of this.

“Jay, I’m sorry I—” Dick says, taking a step toward him with a conflicted expression on his stupid handsome face.

“Shut up,” Jason growls, turning away. It isn’t fair to blame Dickie for any of this. He was always a good partner to Jason during his own year of mentorship and training as a new detective, and they left things on a good note between them. It was Bruce who went sour and stopped trusting Jason, after that case where he had to choose between letting a serial rapist walk or shooting him.

The fact that the circumstances of the killing were enough to satisfy an inquiry into Jason’s conduct wasn’t enough to win back Bruce’s trust. Whatever. Jason doesn’t give a shit about that anymore. He has gained years of experience and confidence between now and then, and he doesn’t need Bruce’s approval anymore.

Tim does, though. Jason is pretty sure that getting shoved out of his favored position hurt him badly, as does the fact that Dick has barely spoken to him since he replaced him as his partner. Jason frowns. It’s clear that Bruce put Dick in an impossible position between Tim and Damian, and he’s obviously been doing the best he can with what he has. If Jason were being fair, he’d split the blame for this debacle pretty evenly between Bruce and Damian.

Jason looks down at his hands, where Tim’s blood is still drying. He doesn’t feel much like being fair right now.

Dick doesn’t try to talk to him again.

* * *

Tim floats slowly to awareness, feeling pleasantly warm and comfy. He’s lying on something soft, and he seriously doesn’t want to move. It’s rare that he feels so perfectly relaxed and comfortable.

That realization is what causes him to finally pry his eyes open and look around. He doesn’t trust this inexplicable feeling of absolute relaxation and comfort. In his line of work? No, the sense of relaxation is definitely a lie.

He was right to be suspicious, he realizes as he takes in the immaculate white room and softly beeping medical equipment. As he stares down at the IV line where it emerges from his left wrist, he experiences a surge of absurd gratitude that the nurses didn’t put it in his dominant arm. At least he’ll be able to use his phone and tablet comfortably.

It takes a minute before things start to come back to him and he remembers being shot. Wait, what happened to Jason? Is he okay? Tim is not going to be happy if his gorgeous, snarky, asshole of a partner went and got himself shot, too.

It takes another minute for him to notice Dick, who is sitting in the chair on the right side of his bed. “Holy shit! How long have you been there?” If he weren’t so high right now, his heart would probably be racing in surprise.

Dick grins at him, looking tired and tremendously relieved. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Timmy. Ah, I’ve been here a while. Definitely long enough to notice when you woke up and started muttering to yourself. I heard something about relaxation being a lie, something I could barely catch about awesome nurses, and then something about Jason’s gorgeous asshole—” He breaks off, bursting into laughter as Tim goes bright red.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, reaching up his unencumbered hand and pawing at the pillow beneath his head. Maybe he can smother himself with it to escape the embarrassment of this moment. “No. You’re a horrible person and that definitely didn’t happen.”

“It totally did, but I’m going to let you slide because you, my friend, are on a _lot_ of painkillers right now. You can’t be held responsible for what you say under these conditions.”

Tim frowns, trying to force his brain to concentrate instead of melting into a puddle of sleepy goo. It’s difficult, but he manages. Dick is smiling and joking right now. He definitely wouldn’t be doing that if Tim’s injuries were dire or if Jason had been hurt badly.

That means that he’s free to mess with him a little. Tim smirks. “Really? So I can get away with calling you an absolute dick to your face right now?” He may be spaced out and floaty, but he knows damn well that the last time he and Dick exchanged more than a quick greeting was when he was summarily replaced as Dick’s partner and tossed aside like so much trash. “Diiiick,” he says, then cackles.

“Holy shit, you’re so high. Okay, okay, I deserved that. Although it can be argued that I’m always a Dick, since that’s actually my name—”

“And it’s _hilarious._ Babs told me that when you were still a uniformed officer, you used to catch flack all the time because people kept assuming you were a stripper when you knocked on their door in your snazzy cop uniform and introduced yourself as Dick.”

“Babs wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that,” Dick says with a groan, burying his face in his hands.

Tim waits for a moment, but Dick doesn’t budge from his position. Tim snickers. “Did you ever get a tip?”

“Shut up. Yes.” Dick lifts his face, his cheeks flaming as he glares at him, visibly fighting back laughter. “I didn’t find the twenties in my belt until I was back at the station and noticed everyone was laughing at me. Quit laughing—it’s not funny! I couldn’t figure out who slipped them there, so I just put them in the donut fund.”

“Your stripper money keeps us in donuts?” Tim tilts his head. He loves those donuts. “Thank you for all your hard work, Dick.” Then he starts snickering, the words ‘hard’ and ‘dick’ slipping out between breathless cackles.

Dick just stares at him with a bemused smile. “You know, I just realized you’re probably not even going to remember this conversation next time you wake up.” He takes a deep breath. “That actually makes this easier to say. Okay, important stuff first—you’re fine, you were just grazed by the bullet and they’re keeping you for observation overnight. They just want to make sure there wasn’t anything hinky on the bullet, like joker toxin or super bacteria or whatever the heck else Gotham gangs have lying around. You should be able to go home tomorrow morning. Jason’s okay, too. He wasn’t injured at all and we managed to round up half of Intergang and Nathaniel Walker, not to mention those three missing teens. Apparently, they got cold feet and ran away together to hide out after Walker beat that other kid up. They came forward when we arrested him.”

Tim falls silent, getting his laughter under control as he registers the change in tone. He smiles in relief at the good news.

Leaning forward, Dick gazes earnestly into his eyes. “As for what happened between us—Timmy, I never wanted to end our partnership, not until after your year of training was done and we were both ready to move on to the next challenge. My next challenge just happened to land a lot sooner and harder than I was expecting. Damian is—well, he’s not an easy guy to work with, and he’s kind of sucked up all my time and energy over the past week.”

He rubs his forehead, sighing, and then looks up. “Tim, I’m sorry I let you down. I should’ve stuck up for you when Damian was at your throat, and made it crystal clear to him that your cases were out of our hands. I definitely should have checked on how you and Jason were doing together. Things should never have escalated to this.” He gestures at the hospital bed.

Tim frowns. That… makes it sound like the friction between him and Damian has something to do with his injury. And what was that about their cases being out of Damian’s hands? That doesn’t make any sense, unless—

His eyes widen. “Holy shit, did _Damian_ tip off Intergang about our investigation?” Ugh, that unspeakable _brat._

Dick looks apologetic. “He didn’t do it on purpose, but yeah. He went by the warehouse the night before you guys had your stakeout. His nosing around was captured on their security cameras and it’s what tipped them off that they were under investigation.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “That conceited little—”

“Hey, it wasn’t all his fault! Jason’s the reason those gangsters knew who you were.”

“Wait, what?” Did Jason betray him? His heart sinks, and then he frowns in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense. Jason was getting shot at, too.”

Dick laughs. “Oh, I didn’t mean he gave it away on purpose! Apparently, one of the Intergang members recognized him from when he was a beat cop in Gotham. Since they were on the lookout for cops, they spotted him. If it hadn’t been for that, I doubt they would have even noticed you guys.”

“Well, that sucks,” Tim grumbles. “Wait, back up to Damian again. Is he even going to get in trouble over this?” Normally he would expect a disciplinary hearing, but considering this is the commissioner’s kid, all bets are off.

“Don’t worry—he’s suspended, too, until the investigation is complete.”

Frowning, Tim tries to parse what was wrong with that sentence. After a moment, it comes to him. “Suspended, too? Who else is suspended?” He is obviously going to be out on medical leave for the time being, and Dick hasn’t done anything suspension-worthy—unless the stripping-in-uniform thing is a habit and he got caught doing it. That just leaves… “Jason?”

Dick is red and sputtering for some reason. “I am _not_ a stripper!” he hisses, then subsides.

Whoops, apparently Tim is narrating his inner thoughts again. Whatever, he’s been shot. He can get away with that kind of thing right now.

“Yes you can,” Dick says with a chuckle, a soft expression on his face. He pats Tim’s unencumbered hand gently. “And yeah, Jay’s suspended right now. Wait—” he says, cutting off Tim’s protective rant before it even begins. “It’s just a formality. He’s under investigation for use of undue force while subduing the people who hurt you, but everyone knows it’s not going to come to anything. It’s pretty obvious he was just defending himself and you.”

Tim settles back down, processing. Okay. That’s fine. He nods slowly. “Okay.” He hesitates for a moment. “As for the rest—it sucked, but I get it.” He smiles. “We’re okay, Dick.” Not partners anymore, that’s for damn sure, but… “Friends?”

“Always,” Dick says firmly, squeezing his hand. “Want some ice chips?” He brandishes a sloshing cup from the bedside table.

Nodding, Tim accepts an ice chip and sucks on it, closing his eyes to fully enjoy the delightfully cool sensation. Sleep calls to him and he only manages a couple more ice chips before he’s out. The last thing he feels as he drifts off is the sensation of gentle fingers pushing his hair back off his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, waking up in hospital feeling comfy and high as a kite:** “Wow, I should get shot more often”  
>  **Dick, popping up at his bedside to stare at him in horror:** “No you should not” *Takes Tim’s hand, begins to earnestly apologize for being a jerk about the whole partner thing* “—And I’m sorry I didn’t make them move your desk out of the bathroom, especially after that time Jason ate all those burritos and then wrecked it with you in there”  
>  **Tim, still very high:** “I forgive you but you need to buy me ALL the fajita cheesesteaks”  
>  **Dick, happy but confused:** “Uh… All of them?”  
>  **Tim, nodding very firmly:** “ALL of them”  
>  **Dick, laughing and giving him a hug:** “Lol okay little buddy! All the cheesesteaks, just for you”  
>  **Tim, drifting off to sleep with a smile:** “Best day”


	7. Chapter 7

Tim looks so damn pale and still lying there asleep in the bed with his black hair spilling across the pillow around his handsome face. The shadows under his eyes look like bruises in the harsh hospital lighting.

Jason sighs as he lowers himself into the seat, setting the coffee he brought down on the side table before lifting his own thermos of earl gray to his lips and taking a long drink. He won’t stay long—Dick texted and told him that Tim woke up for a few minutes earlier, so he isn’t too worried.

It was hell before that, though. Jason thought he would go crazy waiting to hear back after Tim disappeared into the ambulance. He’d have been here himself if the goddamn internal investigations shitheads hadn’t kept him at the precinct for hours, questioning him endlessly about every aspect of the case. Besides the usual pages of reports for every bullet fired, they wanted a fucking blow-by-blow of the entire firefight. So many goddamn dumb questions.

Jason sighs again, resting his elbows on his knees and bending over to bury his face in his hands. It’s been a long fucking day. Night? He’s not too sure what time it is right now, actually. It’s way the hell past visiting hours, that’s for damn sure. He huffs something that barely qualifies as a laugh. There are a few perks that come with being a Gotham detective. Being able to visit the hospital during the off hours is one of them.

His entire body aches with weariness, but he didn’t want to go home until he saw Tim for himself. Now that he’s here, he’s not sure he can bring himself to leave.

Tim’s hand moves, his fingers twitching. On autopilot, Jason reaches out his own hand and covers Tim’s. “Get better soon, princess,” he whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and rising to leave.

At least, that’s what he meant to do. Jason freezes, his brows lifting in surprise as he looks down to see Tim’s hand is now loosely gripping his.

“Don’t go,” Tim whispers.

Jason’s gaze flies to the head of the bed, where Tim’s pretty blue eyes are now open and hazily focused on him. “Okay,” he says, sinking back into the chair. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his partner’s face. Seeing him awake is endlessly more reassuring than the sight of him lying in a hospital bed, looking frail and hurt. “I thought—fuck, Tim, I thought—” His voice breaks and he shuts his mouth, afraid he’s going to say too much.

“You were pretty awesome back there,” Tim says with a lopsided grin. “Kicked all their asses. Well, shot out all their kneecaps, technically. Sorry you’re under review.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it.” It happens often enough. Hell, his life probably wouldn’t feel complete without at least one review a year.

“Hey, Jay?” Tim’s eyes are falling closed and he looks so damn sweet and pretty.

Jason feels his face going all fucking soft at the nickname. Thank fuck Tim’s eyes are closed now or this would be embarrassing as hell. “Yeah, princess?”

“How come you were such an ass to me at first?”

Aw, hell. He winces. “‘Cause I’m an idiot. I came back here with a chip on my shoulder because of what went down with Bruce years ago. I was pissed off at everyone and everything, but mostly him. You were an easy target—the guy he replaced me with, someone he musta thought was better than me. I heard some shit about you, too—wrong, as it turns out, but I believed it at first.” He shrugs, looking down as he rubs his thumb over the back of Tim’s hand. “I thought I knew what you were like, and I was so fucking wrong.”

Tim is being so quiet that Jason wonders if he fell asleep. It makes it easier to keep talking. “Working with you, though, I realized pretty fast that all the damn rumors I heard were nothing but jealous, ignorant bullshit. I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologize. The, uh, ash-free coffee this morning—yesterday morning?—was supposed to be a start.”

He jumps slightly in surprise when Tim suddenly squeezes his hand and opens his eyes. He’s smiling and looking generally spaced-out and way happier than he has any right to be. Jason blames the drugs. They must have him on the good shit.

“So you don’t hate me anymore?” Tim says, smiling wider.

Jason feels like even more of a dick. “No. I never really hated you—I was pissed off at an idea I had of who you were. You turned out to be someone completely different.”

“That’s good.” Tim blinks up at him with a crooked grin. “You not actually hating me makes my massive unreciprocated crush on you _way_ less awkward.”

Holy shit.

Jason is not sure how to react to that. His body makes the decision for him. He feels his cheeks go hot as he blushes like he hasn’t since he was fifteen and popped a boner in chemistry because teenage hormones are a goddamn curse upon the earth.

Tim is studying his face with apparent fascination. “Huh, you have freckles. I never noticed that before. It’s really cute.”

He doesn’t look like he knows what the hell he’s saying, but _fuck._ Jason isn’t sure what to do with any of this. His free hand drifts up to cup his own heated cheek, tracing over the freckles there as he continues to stare at Tim in shock.

Before he decides what to do or say to any of that, Tim’s eyes flutter closed and he sighs softly, falling asleep before Jason’s bemused eyes.

Well, things are definitely going to be interesting from here on out, that’s for damn sure.

* * *

Tim slips through the side door, glancing left and right to make sure Jason isn’t around. He has spent a sizable amount of time over the past week replaying everything he remembers about their conversation the night following his injury. Being stuck at home waiting while his body recovered sufficiently for him to hobble in for desk duty did not provide the distractions needed to divert his mind from writhing over his embarrassing babbling. He tried texting Ives about it, but all he got back was a message full of crying laughing emojis. Stupid Ives.

Poor Jason. He must have felt so awkward—most likely, he’s dreading Tim coming back to work because he’s afraid he’ll have to let him down easy.

Maybe if he just pretends he doesn’t remember his awkward confession, they can move on and pretend it never happened. Yes, that is definitely the best plan. He nods, turns to head down the hall toward the bullpen, and walks smack dab into a wall of muscle.

Oh god—did he just walk right into Jason?

He tentatively looks up and then stares, his mouth falling open. “Commissioner?”

Commissioner Wayne looks down at him. “Detective Drake. Welcome back. I need to speak to you in my office.” He turns and leads the way toward his own office.

Tim follows at a slower pace. His graze mostly damaged the skin of his side, barely touching the muscle, but it hurts like heck now that he’s off the heavy pain meds the hospital gave him. It also itches like crazy under the bandages, which is almost worse than the pain.

He follows the commissioner into his office and closes the door behind himself. “What is it, sir?” Possibilities fly through his mind, running the gamut from a rebuke for trashing his service vehicle to an official demotion back to beat cop for getting into a pissing contest with Damian Wayne and almost ruining an op in the process. Damian’s fault or not, the kid’s a Wayne. If anyone’s going to be blamed for the whole mess, it’s probably going to be Tim. He bites his lip, trying not to sway where he stands as his anxiety rises in churning waves.

The commissioner heads over to his desk and sits down, spinning in his chair to regard him. After a long moment, he gestures toward a plush chair nearby. “Have a seat. And please, Tim, we’ve known each other for years now. Call me Bruce.”

Tim blinks, confused, and sinks into the chair more by autopilot than intent. “Uh, yes sir. I mean, yes, Bruce.” The name feels strange, his tongue oddly clumsy in shaping the sounds.

Bruce takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly. He stares at Tim as he speaks. “I need to offer you an apology.”

“Wait, what?” he blurts out, taken aback by the unexpected statement. “You—for what?” His mind flies through the events of the days before the commissioner left on his trip. He can’t come up with anything, unless Bruce is the one who took the last donut and then left the empty box in the break room as a cruel taunt for those who came after him.

Frowning, Bruce drums his fingertips on his desktop, then sighs. “For leaving the way I did and not managing Damian’s arrival here better. He took me by surprise—I knew we were receiving a promising new transfer from Metropolis, not who he was to me personally. When he told me the truth, I was so furious at the thought that my ex-wife had hidden my own child from me, I couldn’t think straight. He was qualified on paper and his record was excellent, but that is no excuse for the way I handled his transfer. I made the decision to partner him with Dick without going through the customary channels or preparing any of you. That decision caused undue distress.” His gaze drops to Tim’s side and lingers for a moment before he closes his eyes, his jaw tightening.

“It’s fine,” Tim manages, still stunned at the direction this conversation has gone. Things went wrong in the field, sure, but everything could have been much worse. He can’t believe the commissioner is going so far as to apologize to him for what happened.

Bruce opens his eyes at that and looks at Tim again, frowning. “You may not be aware that the former commissioner is the one who inspired me to make this—cleaning up Gotham’s police force and leading it—my life’s mission.” He sighs, looking pensive. “You likely know that Jim Gordon was the one who found me after my parents—” He breaks off, visibly pained at the reminder of his parents’ tragic and highly publicized deaths. After a brief moment, he resumes.

“I quickly realized that what I wanted most was to spare others the pain I had suffered. After Jim Gordon solved the case and brought my parents’ murderer to justice, I knew I wanted to be just like him.”

Wow. Tim stares at him, his mouth dry. He never even imagined his own story might share any similarities with the commissioner’s. Of course, getting himself into trouble and being saved by a hero cop is a far cry from being witness to such a terrible crime and having the future commissioner of the police force help you. He listens, waiting for Bruce to reveal the reason behind his choice to share such a personal story.

“When I turned eighteen, I joined the force. I watched as Jim worked to clean out the corruption in the police force and improve outcomes for everyone. By the time he was ready to retire, I was in a position to take over for him.” Bruce pauses, eyeing him in a measuring manner. “Do you know what he told me on that day?”

“No,” Tim whispers, still in shock that he’s being told any of this.

“He said that in all of his career, he only met one other person driven by a true sense of justice. Me. He told me if I ever met anyone like that, I should keep them close and mentor them because they would be the one to carry on the mission after me.” He falls silent, still staring at Tim. “I was fortunate enough to meet three such men, and I have failed each of you in different ways. I refused to compromise with Jason, I’ve asked the impossible of Dick time and again, and I took you for granted. Tim, you are a valuable member of my team, no matter how you have been made to feel over the past weeks. I know I don’t deserve it after the situation I threw the three of you into with Damian, but—”

“What do you need?” Tim asks immediately. He’s relieved enough at having learned he wasn’t tossed aside intentionally, after all, that he just wants to move on now.

Bruce sighs. “It’s Damian. His mother—the things she and his grandfather taught him by always arranging for him to get whatever he wants—” His face twists as though in suppressed pain. “He is not motivated by a true sense of justice, but by self-serving ambition and entitlement. He is accustomed to getting his way whether or not he deserves it. Despite this, I believe he can be taught.” His face twists. “So far, I have failed him badly. The internal investigation has already identified several preliminary root causes for his actions, including inadequate training, unclear expectations, and his own errors. When he returns to work, it is likely be temporarily demoted and will have to earn his way back up to detective, just like the anyone else in his position.”

He looks at Tim. “Damian needs guidance, to learn the right way to do things and he reasons behind it. Dick is doing a great job with him so far and I will do my best as well. All I ask of you is that you give him another chance and work with him if needed.”

“Done,” Tim says immediately, only regretting his choice slightly after he has a chance to think about it. He’s definitely not looking forward to working with Damian. Then again… The guy’s an absolute jerk, but he could be a damn fine detective if he channeled all the time and energy he spends plotting into actually solving cases. Besides, based on what Dick has said lately, Damian was shaken by his experience and is now a bit more open to learning and working with others instead of trying to use everyone as stepping stones toward his own success. “I’ll do what I can,” he says, amending his statement. He’s not about to let Damian walk all over him if things don’t work out.

“Thank you,” Bruce says, then regards Tim again. His face softens minutely. “Tim,” he says, then pauses, something that looks almost like a smile tugging at his lips. “One more thing. You’re still a bright boy, and you’ve grown into a fine man. I’m… proud of you.”

Tim stares at him, his eyes widening in shock. That statement was awfully similar to the words Bruce Wayne spoke to him after saving his life, back when he was a kid. Does that mean…? No. There’s no way he remembers rescuing one little kid, not after all this time.

Bruce gives him an enigmatic smile. “I think your partner is waiting for you.” His gaze flicks to the window. “He probably wants to show you to your new shared office. I apologize for that, as well—the carpet had to be replaced after the last detective who used it retired, and the work was just completed. I suppose you didn’t find my note of explanation with your things?” At Tim's baffled head shake, Bruce sighs, looking infinitely tired. Wow, Damian really is a brat. Bruce is going to have his hands full with that one. 

Tim turns and sees Jason hovering in the hallway, looking very much as though he is concerned and trying to hide it and not at all like he cares about their fancy new digs. Turning back to the commissioner, he sees him nod dismissal. “Go on.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Welcome back.” Tim gives Bruce one last shy smile before slipping out the door. He finds himself standing awkwardly before his partner and briefly considers attempting to flee.

“Hey there,” Jason says, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. He’s—blushing?

Tim stares at his flushed face, noticing all over again the way it highlights the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones. Then he remembers the way he blurted out his crush and called Jason’s freckles cute, and oh. Great. Now he’s blushing, too. “Hi,” he manages after a moment, wondering if it’s too late to pretend everything’s normal and he doesn’t remember anything.

Jason coughs. “So, about what you said at the hospital—”

Shit. “Uh, I don’t really remember much about the hospital. They had me on a lot of meds and I was pretty out of it.” There, done. Smooth, and not actually a lie. After all, he was asleep the majority of the time he spent there, so technically, he doesn’t remember most of it because he was unconscious for long stretches.

“Oh,” Jason says. He sounds—disappointed?

Tim frowns, then winces as a stab of pain in his side causes him to tense.

“Shit, are you in pain?” Jason crowds in close and wraps an arm around his shoulders, gently guiding him down the hallway toward the bullpen. He’s half-carrying him by the time they reach their desks. “Here you go,” he says, easing Tim down into his chair and then hovering. “You want me to get you something? Water? Coffee? Couple of pain reliever tablets?”

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the attention, Tim just gazes up at him. The expression on Jason’s gorgeous face is so open and tender, it almost hurts to look at him. In that moment, Tim decides that it doesn’t matter if he’s embarrassed. If Jason is acting like this, he clearly isn’t offended by the knowledge that Tim is interested in him.

Maybe he’s more open to the prospect than Tim thought. Before he loses his nerve, he blurts out, “How about a date?”

Jason’s mouth drops open in surprise and then curves into a pleased grin. “Hell, yeah, princess. I’d love to.” Then he narrows his eyes. “You remember every damn thing that happened at the hospital, don’t you?”

Tim shrugs. “Maybe.” He fiddles with a pen from his desk, still a bit embarrassed when he remembers how he outed his own crush.

“It wasn’t unreciprocated, you know,” Jason says, his smile softening as he regards Tim. “I was just glad to find out that you’re into me, too. I mean, hate sex is all well and good once in a while, but it’s hard as fuck to work together after something like that. Also, it doesn’t work if you start actually falling for the person. Way better to just date, yeah?”

“I guess you could put it that way,” Tim says, then snickers. “Is it really hate sex if you actually like the person?”

Jason shrugs. “Probably not? Don’t know, don’t care. I’m just happy we don’t have to find out.” He hesitates, then reaches out and cups Tim’s cheek in his hand for a brief moment. “Glad you’re back, princess,” he says softly.

“Me too,” Tim says, and means it.

“Wanna take a break in a few and go out for coffee?” Jason grins like a bastard because he knows exactly the way to his heart. Asshole.

“Yes,” Tim says immediately, because of course he does. Yes to the coffee, yes to the partnership—heck, yes to everything. “Donuts, too?”

“Fuck yeah, we’re getting donuts.” Jason grins. “I’d offer to sweep you off your feet, but I’m pretty sure you’d kick my ass.”

Tim snickers. “Maybe later,” he allows. There’s something about the thought of Jason manhandling him that has him staring into space, his heart rate picking up speed.

He looks at his partner and grins. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

He’s looking forward to all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, visiting Tim in the hospital:** “Damn I hope he’s gonna be okay. Also, I sure as fuck hope I can make it up to him for being such a raging bag of dicks. Poor guy must hate me”  
>  **Tim, waking up just enough to mutter:** “Love Jason—gorgeous asshole—” *Drifts back to sleep*  
>  **Jason, staring fixedly at him for ten minutes trying to figure out implications of what he just said:** *Decides it’s fine any way you look at it* “Love me, love my gorgeous asshole. Sweet!”   
> **Tim, back at work after recovering from being shot:** “Welp guess I better avoid Jason forever to escape the shame of my unwelcome love confession” *Instantly walks directly into Jason* “Dammit!”   
> **Jason, immediately sweeping him off his feet:** “I love your gorgeous asshole too!”   
> **Tim, blinking:** “Uh…” *Considers, then decides that works* “Yay!”   
> **Dick and Damian, walking by at that exact moment:** *Make identical horrified faces, immediately spin on their heels and walk in the opposite direction*   
> **Tim and Jason, high fiving each other and snickering:** “This is going to be hilarious” *Immediately plan series of intricate pranks to enact their playful vengeance*   
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and thanks to the superlative mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for being a supportive place while I was writing this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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